Edge of Oblivion
by WeaverOfFate
Summary: AU story. My take on how it all happened. Eragon becomes a Rider. Alagaësia is plunged into chaos and war soon after. He must fight to survive and to save the land from evil. All races now stand on the Edge of Oblivion. Eragon S./Arya
1. Prologue

**Edge of Oblivion**

_Prologue - Alagaësia  
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><p><em><strong>DISCLAIMER: <strong>_The Inheritance Cycle is not owned by me. Christopher Paolini owns that universe which he created. That said, I have made this **AU (Alternate Universe)** and so it **does not completely follow canon/the books at all**.

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><p>Alagaësia.<p>

That was the name of the land. Mountain ranges to the west, along the coast, stood and kept the stormy weather from the sea from sweeping too far inland. The other major mountain formations were in the southeast, the tall Beor Mountains that scraped the very sky with their peaks. Clouds draped over them like proud coats. These mountains dwarfed those of the Spine, which were barely a quarter of the size of the Beor mountains. What lay beyond the Beor mountains farther south was a mystery to the peoples of Alagaësia.

To the north sprawled in all its splendor was the forest of Du Weldenvarden_, _which translated into the common tongue is "The Guarding Forest." All along the northern edge of the explored continent the forest grew and thrived.

In the middle of the explored regions of the land was the Hadarac Desert, a vast expanse of sand plagued by constant heat and bitter winds that sucked the moisture and strength from those who traveled across it.

Between the Hadarac and the Spine lay, for the most part, flatlands that were mostly inhabitable in that the soil was fertile enough for crops, and thus life to be sustained.

Finally, to the east beyond the Hadarac Desert were the plains that led into the unknown. The unexplored regions ofAlagaësia where few dare go, and those that do never return. Some say it is because they have found great opportunity and wealth in the east while others say it is because evil has befallen them. There are those that even say it is because they walked off the face off the earth, having gone past where the map ends. Seeing as how nobody returned on any of those eastbound expeditions, everything was mere speculation.

Off the northwest coast, jutting out from the sea in defiance of the water that surrounded it, lay the island of Vroengard. The southwest coast had islands, though smaller ones, and were of little import.

The humans settled much of the western part of Alagaësia. The elves ruled over Du Weldenvarden, and the Dwarves over - or rather under - the Beor mountains. Both elder races were there before the arrival of the humans. The Dwarves, however, were the original inhabitants of the land and were there well before the elves arrived. The elves had sailed across the ocean from wherever they originated from and landed upon the shores of Alagaësia, and after them coming from the same land were the Urgals.

The Empire encompassed all of western Alagaësia, from the city of Reavstone on the southernmost tip of the western edge, along the coast, all the way to the northern city of Ceunon. It's capital city, Ileria, used to be an elven city until it was captured during the First Human-Elven War. As part of the peace accord later signed, the humans were able to keep Ileria and the elves retreated into Du Weldenvarden for good.

Dragon Riders made up the remaining powerful faction of Alagaësia. They were keepers of the peace and upholders of justice. Many were scholars, and gifted with extremely long age and magical powers, and of course a companion dragon, they were extremely powerful. All in all, there were thirty-six Dragon Riders currently in existence, of which three were new riders.

There has been a long peace as it has been nearly two centuries since the last major conflict tore Alagaësia apart. It was a golden age of prosperity and tranquility. But a great evil had arisen. Rumors of a Shade, a twisted being of immense power who was created from the summoning and binding of spirits, were circulating. The Riders were on alert, though they had yet to confirm the appearance of a Shade.

It is in this time that our story begins...

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><p><strong>AN: **I am the WeaverOfFate. Wyrda! If you would please review, I would greatly appreciate it.


	2. Galbatorix

**Edge of Oblivion**

_Chapter I - Galbatorix  
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><p><em><strong>DISCLAIMER: <strong>_The Inheritance Cycle is not owned by me. Christopher Paolini owns that universe which he created.

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><p>Galbatorix whooped in delight as he and his dragon soared through the air. His dragon did several barrel rolls followed by other complex aerial maneuvers, and though he felt dizzy from them the dragon rider enjoyed every minute of the experience. After many years, he had finally finished his training as a rider. Now the rest of his learning will come from his experiences beyond Vroengard to the wider land of Alagaësia.<p>

His powers were still growing with each passing day, and he had spent many years now with his dragon, their bond strong and true. The winged magical creature was already big and getting even bigger, though at a much slower rate than before. Typical for a dragon of his age.

His other two companions who were also on their dragons were a few hundred feet below him, looking up at him with amusement. They were his closest friends, and together he fancied they were the strongest of all the riders. _Even Vrael himself could not defeat us! _he thought with a grin, patting his dragon as they flew through the sky.

_Perhaps in a decade we can hope to match his power,_ said his dragon, _Do not forget that he is our leader for a reason. It would not do to underestimate someone so powerful_

_His powers are waning and he is getting far too old for his position. We will be the most powerful rider and dragon in history, and we will take command of the riders_, said Galbatorix, _that much I promise you_.

His dragon, Jarnunvösk, rumbled with laughter and then let loose a roar of defiance against the world after that statement. _That we shall_.

The consciousness of one one of his companions pushed against his at that moment, _the Spine is below us now_.

_Very well. Let's go down and see what all this fuss is about the Spine being too wild_, he said to his friend, _We shall be the first riders to tame the Spine_!

A feeling of satisfaction and agreement flowed through the connection before it was severed. Jarnunvösk angled himself downward, and so did the two other dragons, and within minutes they were soaring next to the peaks of the Spine.

-**xxx**-

It was dusk by the time Jarnunvösk landed in another clearing big enough for him with a earth-shaking thud, and a few seconds later Galbatorix dismounted from him. He landed on the ground on his feet then tucked into a roll to soften the impact. They were deep within the northern part of the Spine. Already they had encountered two roving bands of filthy Urgal warriors, which they destroyed with ease. He surmised that they were out hunting or perhaps even on their way to pillage the countryside. Other than that, there was not much the Spine had to offer in terms of challenges for them, and even those Urgals were no match for three dragon riders and their dragons.

Either whatever it was that people said made the Spine dangerous was hiding from them or it did not exist. Really the only danger has been and still is the threat of Urgals. They had spotted an entire village about a league to the northwest, but they decided to attack in the morning for it was already late in the day and the sun was beginning to set. They set up camp and ate from their provisions, starting a small fire in the middle.

It seemed like they had walls about them as their dragons lay down and curled around them, their giant scaled bodies mimicking stone walls, albeit with spikes.

"Galbatorix," said one of his companions aloud, "How much longer are we going to stay in the Spine?"

The other companion, setting up a campfire, added, "And how much farther north do we go?"

He looked at them, his eyes alight with power, "We will go many more leagues. I told you when we set out that we shall be the first to pacify the Spine, and that will be the beginning of our claim to glory my friends. They will sing of our feats and prowess at every inn and tavern and every court in the land. We will be heroes." _And maybe even gods, once we've secured our power, _he added in his thoughts.

They smiled as he spoke, his words rang true to their hearts and pleased them. Though they were a little concerned, they could not help but be excited about their actions towards making Alagaësia a safer and better place. Their recent success with killing roughly a hundred Urgals also bolstered their confidence. It was the first time since they had finished training that they actually used their powers and abilities in a real to-the-death fight, and the Urgal corpses that littered the mountainsides behind them were a testament to their strength.

"Come now, let us eat and then rest. Tomorrow we will undoubtedly encounter more of these filthy beasts, and we will need our strength," he said and with that they ate their packed meals and then lay down to rest. _Good night, Jarnunvösk_.

_Good night, my rider__. May your dreams be pleasant, _replied Jarnunvösk.

The next day, they were up at the crack of dawn. Mounting their dragons, they lurched into the air, wheeling into formation with Jarnunvösk in the lead. It took them less than ten minutes of flying to spot an Urgal village tucked in between two mountains, steep cliffs bordering two sides of it and acting like a natural wall. The Urgals were running around in panic upon sighting them, their warriors arming themselves hastily. It would do them no good.

_It's a pity these Urgals can wield magic_, said Galbatorix to Jarnunvösk_, It would have been so much easier to kill them with but a few words._

_But where is the challenge in that? _Jarnunvösk then roared at the Urgals in challenge, and some of them bravely, or foolishly, roared back. _It is time to kill these savage beasts! Unto them! _the dragon's mental voice roared as well.

He flew by the growing mass of Urgal warriors, letting loose a torrent of fire and burning about a dozen of them in that first pass. They bellowed in defiance, letting loose arrows and letting fly barbed spears. They never reached their targets as the magical barriers and wards they had placed around themselves protected them from physical harm, the projectiles clattering uselessly to the ground.

It was about an hour later that they eventually destroyed the entire village, leaving only its smoldering ruins behind. Dark smoke branched up into the sky as they flew around to make sure they had gotten every last one of the filthy beasts. Satisfied, Galbatorix continued flying north, his companions in tow. Finding another Urgal village that they also burned to the ground, they made sure to sweep back around in case they missed any. As night fell, they camped at another clearing for the night.

The next day was much the same, though they found only one other village through the whole day. Galbatorix began to wonder how many they had killed already, and how many more would meet their doom. The endeavor was easier than he thought, and he also began to question why the riders did not take care of the Urgal problem before. Surely the elder riders could have purged the Spine of this infestation in but a few days, a week at most. The Urgals were a war-mongering race and a danger to everyone in Alagaësia - they deserved to be eradicated. Not to mention it would make the Spine a safe place and humans could settle in the now Urgal-free territories.

One of Galbatorix' companions had gone out to hunt, bringing back three deer with him about a half hour later, one for each rider-dragon pair. They cooked the meat and ate until their stomach's were full. Then they talked for a while and fell asleep.

-**xxx**

Galbatorix stirred from his slumber, awoken by a strange feeling in his gut. The back of his neck prickled slightly. He shed the grogginess in a flash. Something felt wrong. He could sense it. But what? He slowly rolled over, grasping the hilt of his sword that lay next to him, his skin feeling the rough leather grip of the hilt.

_Jarnunvösk_, he prodded the dragon with his mind, _Wake up! _he projected the mental shout. There was definitely something wrong.

The dragon snorted, its chest rumbling slightly as its giant eye facing Galbatorix fluttered open.

_What is it?_ asked the dragon, sleepily.

_I-... I'm not sure. Something doesn't feel right..._ replied the young rider, getting up into a crouch as his eyes peered out into the surrounding darkness. The fire had long since died, a few glowing embers remained and that was the only light in the otherwise pitch dark night. Not even the stars or the moon could be seen in the sky.

Suddenly, Jarnunvösk got up onto all fours, sniffing the air with alarm. _I smell Urgals! _he cried out, _They are upon us! _The dragon growled.

Galbatorix stood for a split second, stunned. They were supposed to be the ones attacking the Urgals, not the other way around! _How did they find us? And what gave them the courage, and the idea itself, to attack the riders? _he wondered. He moved to wake his companions, but then realized that the Urgals really were already on top of them as one of them roared and ran towards him, the roar sending a pang of fear down his spine - the first time he had felt that in their cleansing mission. His hulking frame was barely visible in the darkness, what dim light from the embers of the dying fire barely revealing anything. The dark armor and clothing of the Urgals helped to further conceal them in the darkness, but while they were hard to see they were easy enough to hear.

As he avoided the swinging axe and slashed the Urgal dead with his sword, Galbatorix let loose a powerful mental yell towards his companions in order to rouse them.

They woke up in a hurry, their own blades sliding out of their sheaths almost instantly and just in time as the rest of the Urgals descended upon them in a sudden thunder of war cries. Their dragons had already taken many wounds by the time they were able to cast their wards around them and fight back the first wave, for those dragons were not ready as Jarnunvösk was. Because the fighting was intense the riders could not immediately heal their dragons' wounds, and their fighting was far below what they could otherwise do. The battle was hard, and they were surrounded and vastly outnumbered.

Galbatorix felt fear creep further into him as he parried a blow and decapitated an Urgal in one smooth move, moving on to the next as he killed three more in a span of a few seconds. No matter how many Urgals fell to his blade, even more came to replace them. It was almost as if the entire Urgal population in the Spine had turned out for this attack.

Jarnunvösk roared in pain as a spear gouged into his front left leg, the protective wards around him finally failing, and Galbatorix staggered from the pain that echoed through their mental link, an axe glancing off his breastplate and leaving a thick divot in the armor. His dragon knocked the Urgal who had speared him into his companions and then let loose a torrent of molten-hot fire that burned the heap of them and several other Urgals nearby to a crisp. That gave a little bit of room and reprieve for Galbatorix to quickly heal the wounded leg of his dragon.

Using magic, Galbatorix managed to find some unprotected Urgals and killed them instantly with but a few choice words in the Ancient Language. Without warning, one of his companions let loose a mental cry of terrible pain, making Galbatorix turn in shock to see his companion fall to the bites of many swords and axes. His companion's dragon roared with a terrible anguish, and for a moment it redoubled its fighting efforts killing about two dozen more Urgals as it leapt to defend its rider. It was already too late, however, and he was dead by the time the dragon managed to get to the fallen rider. The dragon, in its rage threw itself back into the fray with terrible ferocity but because its injuries were too great it too fell before the horde of Urgals, though not before taking many along to death with him.

His distraction allowed Galbatorix to be speared in the side and a nasty gash opened when another Urgal managed to cut into his armor on his left arm with a crude blade. Crying out in pain, he ran his blade through the two Urgals who had injured him, blood splattering to the ground from his wounds. He quickly healed the spear wound as best as he could, for it was very life-threatening, and continued to fight. He felled many Urgals, and Jarnunvösk did as well, his tail and his claws cutting and slashing and pounding Urgals by the dozens. His streams of fire burned many more and he sank his teeth into even more and more Urgals, and yet they still came. There was no end to them, a roiling flood of savage anger and bitter vengeance.

It was as if the entirety of the Urgal nation, if there actually was one, had descended upon them.

_We cannot win this!_ his remaining companion struggled to say to him mentally, weariness and pain in his thoughts. And there was a fear there that was not present earlier.

_We must prevail. We WILL prevail. You must not give up hope, _he thought back to him, _Besides, we cannot fly out of here. Our dragons are too injured and there are enough of them here that they would kill us if we stopped fighting in order to leave_.

He had thought about running, but because of that reason he did not. They would have killed him by arrow or spear if he had jumped onto Jarnunvösk in order to fly away. Even if he had set up a ward to protect himself and Jarnunvösk, he had his remaining companion to worry about plus he didn't know how long the wards would least given how many enemies were assailing them. Either that, or in the seconds it took for Jarnunvösk to get off the ground they would have tor through the ward and wounded him so badly they wouldn't have been able to fly anywhere else anyways. They were stuck there, and they would either fight and succeed or die trying.

_And I don't have plans on dying today!_ he thought, feeling the weariness leave his limbs as he felt a renewed vigor. Dying was simply not an option.

Again there was a cry from behind him as Galbatorix' remaining friend, one of his closest companions, suffered a mortal wound and fell heavily to the dirt. The scene seemed so surreal as his dragon became enraged much like the other one had earlier, killing many Urgals. The dragon stomped, slashed, bit, burned, and swatted Urgals. The dragon felt no pain and felt no fear. All it felt was a great and terrible loss, an enormous void that could not be filled. And the dragon felt vengeance. Vengeance for the death of its bond-mate. But then it to succumbed to its injuries and fell before the horde.

Though Galbatorix did not know it, there were only a few Urgals left. He had many wounds now, though thankfully none were severe, and he gritted through them while he continued to fight. His sword, armor, and skin were covered in black Urgal blood, the stench of it filling his every breath. Jarnunvösk leapt into a group of Urgals who had planned a final attack on him en masse, crushing a few of them beneath him and then slicing the rest up with his claws. He let loose another jet of fire that burned a group of five Urgals. Galbatorix, using magic, hurtled rocks of all sizes at the Urgals. Gathering strength from Jarnunvösk, who was actually also tiring, he managed to use magic to kill some more Urgals before he realized he was far too tired to use any more magic without risking killing himself or Jarnunvösk in the process.

There was a remaining group of thirty Urgals left and Jarnunvösk decided to leap towards them as well. As he jumped to leap, a barbed arrow - whether by skill or by luck - struck him in an exposed portion of chest that was chipped off by a war axe that hit him earlier, and the arrow pierced his heart. He let loose a mighty roar of pain, his eyes widening in surprise. Galbatorix staggered to a knee as Jarnunvösk fell upon his side, crumpling a wing painfully though that paled in comparison to the pain in his chest. Agony wracked Galbatorix' chest, their bond allowing the pain to echo to the rider, and he cried out to Jarnunvösk. Rage filled him then. Insurmountable rage that welled within, unleashing like a dam had been broken. His exhaustion left him for that moment and he got up and ran towards Jarnunvösk with such speed as to rival even a the fastest elf.

An Urgal who had been readying a killing blow was immediately cut down by his sword. He continued to hack and slash, killing half of the Urgal force that had remained. One of the Urgals whose arm he had cut off rammed into his side with its horns, goring him. He yelled defiantly, decapitating the Urgal and ignoring the growing pain in his side. In a sudden burst of magical energy he yelled out, "Brisingr!" and fire spouted from his hand and engulfed the remaining Urgals, killing them. Doing this sent him to the ground, his vision blurring and turning black as he neared unconsciousness from the energy expenditure.

_Jarnunvösk_... he called out weakly with his mind. He rolled over, the smell of dying flesh and blood hung in the air along with the pungent odor of burnt flesh and the stink of Urgal. He bega to crawl over to where Jarnunvösk lay on his side, the dragon's breathing slow, pained, and labored.

_Jarnunvösk..._ he called out again, and there, weak but alive, was Jarnunvösk's conscious reaching out through their bond.

_Galbatorix_.. Jarnunvösk thought weakly, his tone grim, _I cannot survive this... The wound... it is too deep... my heart is badly damaged. Even now I can feel my life ebbing away as swiftly as the blood runs from my wound._

_No! No! This cannot... This cannot be. I-I can... I can repair it, Jarnunvösk... _he said desperately. His mind was sluggish and he could not summon the strength to even begin a healing spell. Realizing at the last moment that he had a small vial of faelnirv in a pouch strapped to his belt, he slowly pulled it out, thankful that it was undamaged, and gulped down the whole vial. About three mouthfuls worth. He felt energy suddenly surge into him as the warm feeling of the faelnirv slowly trickled down his throat and into his stomach.

_I cannot lose you, Jarnunvösk!_ he cried, feeling a little better, and he racked his brain for the spell to heal such a grievous wound. He could not find one quickly enough though, and so he tried to come up with a spell himself. But the dragon interrupted him.

_It is too late_... Jarnunvösk slowly moved his head next to Galbatorix. His large eye looked straight at him, _Galbatorix_... _I am... sorry..._, and with one final breath Jarnunvösk shuddered and fell still. His large eye gazing one last time at his rider before it closed as the life left him.

Galbatorix fell to his knees and leaned back, letting loose a terrible cry. He felt a piece of him die and a great emptiness within him. He no longer felt the familiar touch of Jarnunvösk's consciousness, not even passively in the background where it had always been. For five years he and Jarnunvösk had been bonded, constantly there for each other and never totally disconnected. Now there was nothing. The loss was so great and so sudden, despair and hopelessness filled every fiber in his body. He wanted to follow Jarnunvösk into the great void, to follow the dragon that had left him alone in this terrible world. Then he collapsed, the emotional and physical tolls finally getting the better of him, and his consciousness fell away into the darkness.

-**xxx**-

When Galbatorix awoke, his body was stiff and in great pain. But it was nowhere close to the pain he felt inside, a deep pain like something had been ripped away from the very fabric of his soul. For a split second he thought perhaps he was merely dreaming, but when he opened his eyes the carnage lay before him, and so did the lifeless body of his beloved dragon.

_Jarnunvösk__,_ he tried to reach out with his mind, but there was nothing to reach out to.

He did not know what to do. There was nothing more that he wanted except to simply die and follow his dragon into whatever came after that. Yet he could not kill himself outright, partly because he was too exhausted to do anything beyond move his eyes and head, and partly because there was still a small piece of him that didn't want to die. For many hours he lay there, his mind torn apart and in chaos and his heart hurting as if he were the one with an arrow through it.

He decided that if he were to die, it was not to be by his own hand. So how best to do that? Find an Urgal and be killed by it in combat. He must die fighting, a warrior's death. That seemed right. Slowly, he got onto his belly and pushed himself to his knees, then he staggered upright to his feet and began to shuffle aimlessly around the mounds of horned corpses. For many hours he walked that day, slowly and painfully, and for two days he wandered the Spine, a lost and dark soul. He met a few Urgals here and there, but they proved to be no match for him even in his much reduced state. He slew them and he continued on his aimless path waiting for death to strike him. On the fourth day, he collapsed from lack of sustenance, the life in him dribbling away into the void. His mind was racing, though the rest of him had slowed to a crawl. The loneliness and the loss was maddening, and that in itself was becoming palpable. He could feel the madness overtaking him, but for a while longer his thoughts were his own at least.

_How could this happen?_ he thought to himself, _This was not how it was supposed to be. I was supposed to be the most powerful rider in history! And Jarnunvösk was to be my dragon, and he the most powerful dragon ever to grace the land. We were destined for greatness! This is not fair! _For hours he wrestled with himself, unable to cope, unable to accept the fact that Jarnunvösk lay dead in the clutches of the mountains of the Spine. How long he lay there, he didn't know, but eventually he managed to kill with the simplest of magics a hare that got a little too close, snapping its neck like a twig. Biting into it hungrily, Galbatorix didn't even care that he was eating it raw. He needed food. He needed energy.

For weeks he went on, sustaining himself by eating whatever game he could kill and then eat, though he started cooking them again after that first hare.

Then one day, he had an epiphany or at least what he thought was an epiphany.

_Perhaps_, he considered with the briefest glimmers of hope in the dark desolate waste of his mind, _Perhaps they can provide me with another dragon. _They being the elders of course. He liked that idea. Yes, another dragon would be able to fill the gaping void that left him feeling so painfully empty and so terribly alone. Another dragon would heal him and make him whole again. That was the answer. That was the only way. He would ask the elders to grant him another dragon, and after all that he had done and been through, they would not refuse him. They could not! Then with that new dragon he will continue on and fulfill the promise he made to Jarnunvösk, honoring his memory in doing so.

_It must be done_. Willing himself to move, he managed to kill another rabbit magically with what little extra energy he had left. Starting a small fire with the faint whisper of "Brisingr", he slowly began to nurture himself back to health. It took him almost two weeks to recover a good portion of his strength, and throughout the recovery process he finally healed his wounds and doubled back towards the battlefield. Once he got to civilization, he needed to find a dragon rider who could take him back to Doru Araeba, where he would address the council and demand his new dragon. They would not deny him that request. He was certain of it.

Returning to the battlefield where he and his companions had made their final stand, which was still full of the dead, he made proper graves for his companions and buried them there, saying a few silent words to whatever gods existed to keep them safe and at peace. Marking their final resting places with elaborate tombstones, he continued on to the dragons. For them, he did the same thing as he did for the riders, though because the graves had to be deeper and the tombs larger it took him almost two full days to bury all three dragons. He would have done it faster but he was still not fully recovered. Then he burned the bodies of all the slain Urgals, making sure to spit on the massive mound of them as they burned to ash.

Another day was spent recuperating from that ordeal before he began to walk south again, towards civilization.

It took him two months to reach Palancar valley, the long arduous trek through the Spine allowing him time to think about everything, and in particular the future. Reaching the mouth of the valley, he was able to contact a rider stationed high up in the Utgard outpost. Alarmed and concerned, the rider had flown down to ground level with his dragon.

"Are you okay?" asked the rider with concern as he dismounted his dragon and walked towards Galbatorix, looking about. "Where is your dragon?"

He grimaced, the ache in his chest and his soul flaring as he was reminded of what he had lost. Glaring daggers at the rider he said, "I was involved in a terrible battle, and I... I lost him... Do you _think _I'm okay?" he said, bitterness in his tone as he eyed the dragon that he had flown on. The creature eyed him with sadness.

The other rider apologized profusely, the elf's eyes widening, "I did not realize... please forgive me."

"It's... alright. Can you take me before the elders in Doru Araeba? I must speak with them," he finally asked.

The rider nodded, "Of course. Once you're rested up we ca-"

Galbatorix' right arm sliced across the air in front of him, interrupting the elf, "No, this cannot wait. I must see them at once."

The elf gave him a long inscrutable look, but then slowly nodded. "Very well. Come, we will take you there as swiftly as we can."

And so it was that Galbatorix finally reached the riders' city. His spirit and his mind broken, he appeared before the council of elders and told them of all that had happened. Great sadness engulfed them and they pitied Galbatorix, but they blamed him for the deaths of his friends and the dragons.

"How could you blame me?" Galbatorix spat angrily, "They died in battle! I did not kill them. The Urgals killed them! Those vile monsters, they should all perish I tell you. We must purge them from Alagaësia once and for all. It would be better that way." He paced in front of them, shaking his head the entire time he spoke, "This wasn't supposed to happen... not supposed to happen.." he repeated a few times.

The elders looked at each other warily, but said nothing, waiting for the young rider to finish.

"I come here, before you, not only to recount to you my story and what happened to us, but to ask of you something that would heal my pain and make me whole once more," said Galbatorix, looking at each elder with his black eyes. "Something that would ensure that I can continue to serve the riders and Alagaësia."

"And what is that, Galbatorix?" asked Vrael, leader of the riders, his tone neutral. Of all the elders, he was the only one who did not outwardly react to the story, his face inscrutable.

"I ask for another dragon." the young rider pleaded with them, his voice straining with emotion, and some of the elders gasped at that. _ I will then avenge the death of Jarnunvösk and my companions by finishing what we started and eradicating the Urgals from the face of Alagaësia! They will tremble before my rightful vengeance until the last of the vermin breaths their dying breath. They will no longer trouble anyone else. The Spine will have been tamed and Alagaësia will be that much safer. Best of all, I will become the great and powerful rider that I know I am destined to become! _he thought gleefully, already imagining it in his mind.

The elders all looked at each other, their thoughts murmuring as they spoke silently through their minds.

One of the elders, an elf named Oromis, saw the madness in Galbatorix' eyes. To him, the young rider was not stable or sane enough to have another dragon and Oromis did not have the confidence that he would be able to care properly for this new dragon. Add to that the fact that the rider was clearly irresponsible and with a clear leaning towards committing genocide, and the elf could see little choice but to deny him this request. He told the other elders as much, and they all agreed with him. Even Vrael.

Oromis spoke then for all of them, "Galbatorix, I am sorry. We have discussed the matter at length, and I am sorry to say that we cannot give you a new dragon."

He raged at them then, his anger and pain spilling out of him. He cursed them and spat at them, but they did not yield. If anything, this further hardened their decision as the effects of the madness of his loss were set loose before them. Galbatorix could not believe it. That they would deny him a new dragon was beyond his comprehension. He thought they would understand, that they would empathize with his plight and try to help him. He thought that they would see reason. He was a rider after all! There were not too many of them, and he was one of their number, and yet here they were casting him aside. Galbatorix felt betrayed.

He glared openly at the elders with fire in his eyes, and finally composing himself somewhat he asked rather venomously, "Will you not change your minds?"

Vrael stirred, "Our decision, Galbatorix, is final."

Without another word Galbatorix turned on his heel and stormed out. He then found that same rider and asked if he would help him return to the mainland. After being dropped off, Galbatorix wandered south into the great plains. Going as far away from Vroengard as he could. He suddenly found himself in Ileria, the capital city of the Empire, and saw that it was readying for some big celebration coming up. _Celebration_. He wondered if he could ever do that again. The pain within him was still too much to bear, but it was ebbing slowly and he was slowly overcoming it. He could not forgive the elders for denying him another dragon and a chance at restoring himself.

He traveled farther south, when suddenly he happened upon a small village. As he entered its main street, he did not even notice that the entire village was deserted. Not a soul stirred, and upon entering the inn he stood there in shock. A multitude of bodies were strewn about, blood splattered everywhere, and limbs at odd angles 0 if they were attached at all. The faces of the dead wore horrified expressions and pained. Were it not for his own pain he would have been appalled, but he was not particularly moved by what he saw, only surprised. Turning to leave, a voice called out to him from the shadows.

"Who are you?" said the voice, its tone cold and almost inhuman.

"I am Galbatorix," replied the black-haired rider, stiffening as his hand went to the hilt of his blade. "And who are you?" Galbatorix turned then to look at who he was speaking too. He could sense immense power come from this being, and he had a vague notion of what it was.

The man smiled, showing rows of sharp teeth. He had blood red pupils that matched his crimson red hair, and all that red stood out for his skin was deathly pale. "You may call me Durza..." he said.

After a pause he continued, "I can feel your pain and your anguish, rider. I can help you."

Galbatorix stared straight at his red eyes, his mind churning, knuckles white as his hand clamped tightly to the hilt of his sword. "How?"

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><p><strong>AN: **Another update! I hope you like it.

EDIT - I moved this to be the first chapter instead of the second (as I was writing I realized I didn't talk about Galbatorix, who will play a big part in this story and so I wrote about him then added it on as the next chapter. I realized that I could actually rearrange it so that it flows better so here you go.


	3. Ileria

**Edge of Oblivion**

_Chapter II - Ileria  
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><p><em><strong>DISCLAIMER: <strong>_The Inheritance Cycle is not owned by me. Christopher Paolini owns that universe which he created. That said, I have made this **AU (Alternate Universe)** and so it **does not completely follow canon/the books at all**.

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><p><em>Fifteen years later...<em>

"Are you ready yet, Eragon?" asked Brom, scratching his graying brown beard as he called to his son from downstairs.

"Coming!" came the reply, followed by the sound of quick footsteps thudding on wood floors.

Eragon emerged from the stairwell and walked over to his father, who was standing near the front door. He was only a few weeks over fifteen years old, with brown hair similar to Brom's when he was younger and youthful, energetic hazel eyes to match. Those eyes reminded him so much of his beloved, and he He was of average height for his age, although he was still growing. He was rather on the thin side, though it was not because of want for food but more that it was his body type at this stage in his life. Brom was a Dragon Rider after all and though not all of the Riders were wealthy, Brom was at least well off enough from his pay and from his own family funds to feed them well.

They had a moderately-sized house in the outskirts of Therinsford, near the mouth of Palancar Valley. A sturdy wood and stone home that Brom had built with his own two hands, and maybe a good amount of magic too. It definitely helped to build it quicker. Eragon's mother, Selena, had a brother in the nearby town of Carvahall , a farmer, and he had a son there named Roran, who was Eragon's cousin. And the same age too. Though they lived in Therinsford on occasion in order to expose Eragon to life outside the Riders' realm, most of the time they lived on the Riders' island of Vroengard off the coast to the northwest.

Most people in Therinsford did not know that Brom was a rider, though there were a few who did and that was because they were friends of Brom and had sworn to keep that knowledge a secret. While the Riders were known throughout Alagaësia as a whole, only a handful were actually recognized by the people, and most of the recognizable ones were the Elders - the oldest, most experienced Riders who used to fly across Alagaësia when the land was still in turmoil. Thankfully, times were peacful and Brom wasn't in their number. Even though he was a senior Rider he liked to keep a low profile as well as keep his privacy.

Brom shook his head in mild amusement as Eragon hustled over to him, an apologetic look on his face. "Sometimes I wonder if I had raised a son or a daughter, what with how long you take to get ready..."

Eragon gave him a weak glare, crossing his arms across his chest, "So are we going now old man?"

"After you, Eragon. Ladies first," Brom said, opening the door and motioning outside with a mocking half-bow.

Eragon couldn't help but grin through the glare he sent his father, who barely suppressed his own smile at the joke; one point for the old man. He walked out, breathing in the cool, crisp morning air. The sun had only just risen and it was still quite dark in the valley as the mountains bordering the valley to the east covered the rising sun like curtains. The only evidence of it rising was the sky overhead getting progressively brighter and the visible rays of sun that blasted out from behind the shoulders of the earthly giants.

Brom locked the door, testing it to make sure it was secure and told Eragon to start walking to where they would meet Brom's dragon, Sephyr. About twenty minutes later, they walked into the small woods that followed along the feet of the Spine mountains. It was only about a half mile from the edge of the woods to the bottom of the mountains, which was why it was deemed 'small' for a forest.

Another fifteen minutes and they emerged at a clearing, where a magnificent dark blue-hued dragon awaited them. His breathing was rough and loud, rumbling even. He was as big as their house, perhaps even bigger Eragon noted, with sharp claws and dangerous-looking spikes all along his back from his head to his tail. Even larger, deadlier spikes protruded from his tail, which looked more like a large barbed mace.

Sephyr growled at their approach, and then Eragon felt the dragon's alien consciousness touch him, no doubt touching his father's at the same time.

_You are late_, he said matter-of-factly, his voice low and booming in Eragon's mind.

"Only by a few minutes," Brom said aloud, "You can blame Eragon for that though."

Eragon looked down slightly embarrassed, rubbing the back of his neck, "Sorry.." he mumbled.

There was a rumbling and the sound of grating stones emanated from the dragon's throat as Sephyr laughed, baring his menacingly sharp teeth.

_No need to apologize, little one. I was merely jesting. It matters little to me that you are but a few minutes late, one cannot always be on time. Besides, _Sephyr said, _I have learned not to let the little things get to you. It would likely drive one mad._

Eragon grinned.

Brom nimbly hoisted himself up onto Sephyr's back and beckoned to Eragon, who with practiced ease also followed him, sitting behind his father. Many a time had his father taken him for a ride through the skies on Sephyr, and he enjoyed the feeling of flying so freely in the open skies. He hoped some day a dragon would hatch for him, and he would be able to fly whenever he wanted. The thrill of flying across the sky was unrivaled in his mind. He adjusted himself to ensure he was settled onto the saddle properly and then buckled his legs securely to the saddle. His father checked to make sure he had done it correctly, nodding in satisfaction.

_Hold on_, his father's consciousness reached out to him then, satisfied that they were ready. Eragon grasped Brom's midsection tightly.

Sephyr unfurled his mighty wings and, taking a few steps forward began to flap them. Slowly, they left the ground and, skimming the treetops to keep low, the dragon banked around a small cliff at the base of one of the mountains and then began to ascend higher and higher. Soon enough, they reached even higher than the tallest of the Spine mountains and flew towards Utgard mountain which was at the mouth of Palancar Valley. The riders had built an outpost near the top due to the sheer cliffs of the mountain that prevented any but those with flying steeds to reach the top.

As they neared the outpost that was carved high into Utgard, Brom began to wave. Eragon realized that on the large, flat open space carved in front of the outpost there were two Riders and their dragons who were waving at them. He could not see who they were, so he asked his father.

"That is Hemfal and Tyrden, and their dragons Lantanos and Ciella," responded Brom as they flew farther away heading south, the older Rider not elaborating further.

Their destination was Ileria, the capital of the Empire. It was the birthday of the Emperor the following day and they had been invited to attend the celebrations at Castle Ileria. From Therinsford it was about a two day journey on dragonback.

Eragon closed his eyes as he focused on the wind rushing past him, his hair blown every which way. They went a little higher and flew into some clouds and he could feel the mist from them wet his skin and dampen his clothes. The sun was well over the horizon now as they cruised along above the clouds, making misty trails on top of them. He marveled at how much one could see from so high up, and though for the most part he saw the great plains stretch out before and underneath them, to their right ran the ridged mountains of the Spine that went all the way to the southern coast. In the distance to his left he could just make out the dark and dense foliage of Du Weldenvarden.

Later that night they landed in an area with some brush and an outcropping of rock to help shield them from the elements. They ate and rested until sunrise when they set out again.

Near the end of the day, with the sun on its way towards the edge of the world, Eragon sighted the grand city of Ileria.

The city was enormous, with great stone walls five maybe even six times the height of Sephyr and at least three times as wide surrounding it and protecting it from any who dared to assault it. Large stone buildings crowded inside the city walls, with the magnificent castle rising up towards the sky in the middle of it all. The magnificent castle was surrounded by its own ring of inner walls, and reached towards the sky to a grand height. Beyond the outer walls, Eragon noted, there were many smaller houses and buildings that sprawled out around the city - people who wished to live near the city but either could not find the space to live inside its walls or did not have the money.

Eragon had never been to Ileria before. He had seen it from afar the few times they had flown nearby, but now that he was nearing manhood Brom was beginning to take him to even more places so that he could get better acquainted with Alagaësia. He felt excitement well inside of him at the prospect of walking around in such a grand and ancient city. He wondered how many people lived there. Thousands no doubt.

Sephyr tilted to the left and downwards as he began a slow descent. By the time they were over the city they were only about two hundred feet above the tops of the buildings. On the far side of Irelia was a square large enough for a dragon even of Sephyr' size to land with ease. It had been built specifically to allow the Riders to land within Ileria. As the capital city of the Empire it was often visited by the Riders.

There were soldiers at the square to keep people out of the area. From a tall, rectangular building next to the square emerged a man with flowing blonde hair and a matching blonde mustache. He had steel gray eyes and a scar that slashed from above his right eye down across it and to his right cheekbone. He had a thick body, a warrior's body, and looked to be about middle-aged. He wore shining armor that shone like silver with small golden designs inlaid on it. A red cape flowed behind him, the end of it dragging slightly on the floor of the square.

"Brom!" greeted the blonde man with a wide smile as Eragon and Brom dismounted from the sapphire dragon.

Brom turned to Sephyr and patted him then looked towards the man, grinning himself. "Gildan! How are you my friend?"

They exchanged pleasantries for a few minutes as Eragon looked around the square. It reminded him of the Rider city of Doru Areaba a little, but it was far more cramped and crowded in Ileria. Beyond the guards who stood watch at the entrances to the square he saw dozens of people walking around, many of whom were enjoying the sight of Sephyr. There were definitely a lot more people in this city than in Doru Areaba.

"... and this is my son, Eragon." said Brom, the mention of his name bringing his attention back towards the men who were talking.

Gildan was smiling at him and extended his hand, which Eragon took in as firm a grip as he could muster without making it seem like he was trying to crush the man's hand - not that he could since his hand was much smaller than Gildan's. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Sir Gildan," said the young man, remembering his manners and inclining his head respectfully. Gildan was the commander of the Knights of Ileria, who were essentially the Imperial guards of the city and thus were the elite of the elite of the Empire's soldiers.

"The pleasure is mine, Eragon. Your father oft speaks of you. You have a good grip," the commander noted with approval as his gaze drifted over to Brom before returning to Eragon, "Your father is raising you well, I see."

"I try, Gildan. I try," said Brom dryly.

The commander let out a chuckle. "Now I won't hold you up any longer, friends. Go on and enjoy the festivities, for they have already begun! And I shall see you at the feast tomorrow." With that Gildan bade them farewell and walked back into the building where he had come from, guards standing still as statues around the entryway.

Brom turned to Sephyr and though they did not speak Eragon knew they were having a conversation through their mental link. Sephyr's head bobbed as if acknowledging something, then he turned a large silver eye towards Eragon.

_Stay safe, young one_, said the dragon and Eragon said that he would, thanking him.

With that the great sapphire dragon took a mighty leap and launched himself into the air, his great wings catching the wind as he soared over the buildings, barely avoiding hitting a chimney or two. A few seconds later he let out a roar of elation and then was gone from sight as he flew over the walls and away from the city. No doubt he was going hunting or perhaps meeting nearby with the other dragons of the Riders who were in the city.

"Well, let's go find your mother now shall we?" said Brom, gripping Eragon's shoulder and giving it a squeeze.

A breeze picked up his short silver and brown hair, though mostly silver now, moving them slightly. His blue eyes gazed at Eragon with amusement as the young boy nodded, preoccupied by looking around once more. They left the square, heading deeper into the city and moving through the many people gathered in the streets in celebration. Towering over them was Castle Ileria, and Eragon was impressed by how it looked from the streets of the city. A far different perspective from when they viewed it in the air earlier. It was magnificent indeed, and the tall spires of its towers seemed to scrape at the sky and touch the clouds.

Bringing his gaze back towards street level, he watched the bustling city as they walked through the streets. He was unaccustomed to seeing so many people all at once, especially since some of the streets they walked through were so small he bumped into someone almost every second it seemed. He made sure to stay close to his father for fear of getting lost and separated, though it would be easy enough to find each other since they could talk with their minds. Still, he'd rather not get lost in the first place, especially since it was getting dark.

By the time they reached the house where they were to stay, the light from the sun barely illuminated the sky. All around the city torches were lit and the hustle and bustle began to die down a little as the people got to their homes. Because it was the Emperor's birthday, however, things started to pick up soon after people got changed at home. Music began to play in the streets, however, and there was much revelry and cheer for after a while people began to start celebrating. For the next three days the Emperor had declared a holiday for the entire city, and the inhabitants were going to take advantage of the respite.

Brom knocked on the door of the house they were to stay at. After a moment, the door swung open revealing a man who looked to be the same age as Brom. He was slightly taller and had a darker shade of gray for his hair. A thick beard and mustache covered his face and he had heavy dark gray eyebrows that hung over brown eyes. His clothes were well-made and on his fingers he had some gold and silver rings, indicating he was an affluent man.

"Brom! Eragon! So good to see you!" he cried out in greeting, hugging Brom and then Eragon in turn. "My, you've grown lad! Let me take a look at you. They grow so fast, don't they Brom? The last time I saw you, Eragon, you were but the height of my knee!" and he let out a roaring laugh and slapped his thigh.

"Taric, old friend. I thank you again for letting us stay at your home while we are here," said Brom after the laughter subsided, inclining his head as he did so.

"Of course! Of course! Now come on in, supper is being prepared. Selena is upstairs, I believe. Gossiping with my wife no doubt!" he said as he waved them in.

Closing and locking the door, he ushered Brom and Eragon through the house and into a large living area with couches and a roaring fireplace. A nice fur rug, Eragon noted it was a bear pelt, was laid down upon the ground. On the walls hung paintings of various places and people, probably very expensive paintings, and over the mantelpiece there was a portrait of Taric himself along with his wife.

Taric motioned for them to sit, "Come, make yourselves comfortable. Supper should be ready soon. I'll tell the ladies that you've arrived and bring them down here."

Brom thanked him as he left, sitting down on one of the comfy chairs with a tired sigh. Eragon walked over to the lone bookshelf in the room, a tall thin one with six different ledges for books. He ran a hand along the spines of the books. Ever since he had learned how to read, he loved to do so when he found leisure time. When he was not training or doing chores, one of his favorite activities recently was to sit somewhere comfortable and read a good book. The stories about dragon riding heroes were a particular favorite of his.

The knowledge written in the pages of some of the tomes on the shelves was astounding, and more than a handful of them piqued his curiosity. One book on the shelf caught his eye: _Eragon: The First Rider_. He wondered if he could borrow that book and read it sometime. Although Brom had told him he was named after the first Rider, he did not really know much about that first Eragon. Perhaps when he hopefully - though according to his father 'eventually' but he was not so sure - became a Rider and started the training he would learn more about the great Rider.

"Sweetheart! Oh, I've missed you!" cried the voice of his mother from behind him.

Eragon turned with a smile as his mother walked over to him and gave him a bone-crushing hug, going so far as to lift him off his feet a moment.

"Mother... ribs... breath..." he managed to whisper, barely able to breathe. His mother was far stronger than she looked.

"Sorry, dear." She eased her grip, but continued to hug him as she kissed his forehead and asked, "How are you my darling boy?"

Eragon groaned inwardly. He loved his mother, but sometimes she went a little overboard with the affection, particularly when there was company.

"I think the boy's still suffocating, love," said Brom with a touch of humor.

Selena let him go finaly then and glared at Brom, though that faltered as she walked over and kissed him on the lips. "Don't think you've escaped my affections, dearest husband." She too hugged him, though it was a little more awkward since he was sitting and she was standing, slightly bent over to give him the hug.

A man entered the room and apparently it was the butler. He told them that supper was ready and that Taric and his wife were waiting for them in the dining room.

Supper went by relatively quickly and without event. Brom and Taric caught up with each other, occasionally the wives would join in, but for the most part the men talked with the men and the women spoke about whatever they were talking about. Before long, Eragon was shown to his room and after bathing and changing into some clean clothes he crashed onto the bed and promptly fell asleep.

-**xxx**-

Sunlight streamed in through the small windows and onto Eragon lying in bed, brightening the room and signaling that morning had come. Eragon slowly opened his eyes and stretched, yawning as he looked up at the ceiling, comfy under the blankets. Blinking, he momentarily closed his eyes for a few more minutes of shut eye when suddenly a mental probe touched his thoughts. He recognized it to be his father.

_We leave in ten minutes, Eragon. Try not to make us wait_.

Eragon acknowledged that he got the message and then his father's mental touch faded away. How did he know that I was up already? Rolling out of bed, he put on his shoes and placed the slim dagger he had brought with him on his belt. He had never actually needed to use it, but it made him feel safe and his father insisted he have a weapon on him at all times.

"Never forget that the world is a dangerous place, Eragon," his father had told him as he handed him the sheathed silver dagger, "It pays to have a blade at your side, just in case you need it."

He walked downstairs and found everyone in the living room chatting. The conversation stopped when he entered and greeted everyone a good morning, and only resumed when his mother began talking about something else that he didn't really pay much attention to. Eragon walked over to his father and sat down next to him on the couch, the two of them largely silent as Selena engaged Taric and his wife in conversation.

About five minutes later they finally got up and left, spilling out into the streets that were slowly beginning to fill up again everyone else began to wake. Many of those who were outside wore nice clothing as there were parties and celebrations all around the city. Today was the big day after all, and everyone had to look their best and brightest.

"What time are we supposed to be in the castle?" asked Brom as they walked down the street, his eyes always shifting around warily as they walked, searching for threats.

Taric thought for a moment, then said, "I believe that we are expected around sunset, for the grand feast begins soon after that."

They went to visit the marketplace first, which was brimming with people even at such an early hour. Though it was a holiday for most people, those who had shops and stalls in the city did not take a break from their work. This was when business picked up the most, after all, and they had to take advantage of this opportunity. People spend more when they are happy and when there is some special event going on, and they were not going to miss the chance to make more money out of it.

"Get your miniature statues of the Emperor! Come and get this special miniature statue of the Emperor! His exact likeness can be on your mantelpiece or on your desk!" cried one merchant, lifting a finely-crafted statuette for people to see. Many more sold other memorabilia to commemorate the birthday of the Emperor. The atmosphere was loud, exciting and so very much alive.

Eragon took it all in, still amazed at how many people lived within the walls of the city. The streets were going to be even more packed than they were yesterday from the looks of it. It was already tough to move around without having to rub shoulders with someone, and half the city was still not up and about yet. Never had he seen so many people at once, and it made him both excited and nervous.

Smoke wafted through the streets and the smell of cooking food mixed with other odors in the air. The smells of the city were as different as the sights and sounds. A patrol of guards walked past, their armor chinking like the sound of coins being shaken in a jar, their spears held up tightly as they scanned the crowd. A merchant and his assistant were unpacking his stall and getting ready for the day. Children ran around wherever there was space, or pushing through or in between the legs of the people in the streets, laughing and playing. A group of musicians in a corner were performing a fast song to which a group of people in front of them were dancing to, their feet moving in a flurry as the crowd either moved around them or stood and watched.

They wandered through the city for much of the day, with the women opting to buy a few small items here and there. Already Eragon felt weary from all the activity around him, his senses feeling overwhelmed. This was a far cry from the relative quiet of Therinsford or even Vroengard. Soon enough, the sky began to darken and again the torches all around the city were lit, although there seemed to be more of them tonight. The shops and stalls all closed down as the sun began its descent, but people still remained on the streets as there were sections blocked off for the people t have parties. The inns and taverns were crowded, and some people roamed the streets drinking and singing with no desire to settle down somewhere for the celebrations. Several street merchants stayed open, selling food and drink to the people, some even continuing to hawk their wears as the crowds slowly got inebriated.

The group meandered their way to the gates of Castle Ileria, the crowds thinning out the closer they got. Before long they stood in front of the massive gates, wide enough to fit two wagons through and still have some room for people to walk by on the sides, and they were two times the size of Sephyr. They were made purely of iron and steel, and they groaned and shook the ground as they moved.

The Knights of Ileria stood watch, guarding the gates. There were ten of them, their armor shining in the torchlight. Unlike Gildan, these Knights had heavy plate armor, underneath which was a layer of chainmail. Their large, distinct helmets covered the entirety of their heads and they all carried large square shields strapped to their shield arms. Each one held a spear, though they clearly had swords on their hips as well. The Captain of the Gate had a tall red plume on top of his helmet that matched his red cape, his features obscured by the full helm on his head. In his hands was a piece of parchment with lines and lines of names scribbled on it.

Taric went first and introduced himself and his wife, and they were let through after the knight checked the list.

"State your name," the knight captain said as they approached.

"It is I, Brom Holcombsson with mine own son, Eragon, and my wife Selena," replied Brom. A small line had formed behind them as some of the other guests to the castle feast just arrived as well.

The knight nodded, not even checking with the list, recognizing the name and finally the man. "My apologies, Rider. For a moment there I did not recognize you," said the captain as he moved aside to let them through.

As they entered into the courtyard, Eragon heard the captain repeat his challenge to the guests who were behind them. There were a few more Knights in the courtyard, some walking around patrolling while others stood still guarding doorways. Eragon wondered aloud how skilled they were in combat, and if any of them could do magic.

"Very," Taric said to him without looking at Eragon, "All these men were selected to be a part of the Knights. They must be both skilled with swords and with magic, and they must be devoted to the Empire. When they are inducted, they swear another vow in the ancient tongue that stacks upon their first vow of military service, for all of them used to be in the army."

"However," Brom added in a low voice, "Between you and me, son, they are far better with swords, spears, and bows than they are with spells and the Ancient Language."

As they were about to enter the actual castle, Eragon stopped and looked up, marveling once more at the sheer size of the stone structure. Then he quickly hurried to catch up to his family, who were already a ways ahead. A Knight greeted them at the main doors to the castle and told them how to get to the Great Hall, as he called it. Brom and Taric, it seemed, knew the way already but they allowed the Knight to inform them of their path anyways.

"It is to make sure that people do not _accidentally_ wander off into some other part of the castle," explained Brom. "By letting everyone know where to go and how to get there, anyone caught going anywhere else is subject to a rather severe punishment, no matter the person's station."

They finally made it to the Great Hall, and indeed it was great for it was large enough to fit several houses inside, or even several dragons. Halls this large were a staple in Vroengard, but to see one so grand and so far away from the island was surprising. About a dozen long wooden tables were placed across the hall, each table seating about twenty. There were already a good number of guests there, and more were still arriving as laughter and conversations drifted through the air. Taric and his wife excused themselves and went off to go mingle, saying that they would see them later.

There were nobles of all shapes and sizes, with their varied expensive-looking clothes and jewelry, as well as distinguished guests and of course the other Riders. There were about ten of them there already, and they all greeted Brom with much enthusiasm. Eragon was again caught up in all of the commotion that he did not, at first, notice that there were elves there. Three, in fact. But he finally spotted them after a while, and he could not help but stare because elves were rarely seen outside of the great northern forest that was their home.

Two males and one female. Eragon had only ever seen the elven Riders, and even then only briefly, having never set his eyes upon a 'normal' elf. He admired their beauty, as most people did, for they were called the fair-folk after all. He wondered how old they were, for even after centuries the elves would still look as if they were still in the prime of their youth. The three elves were busy conversing with each other, and Eragon could not help but continue watching them with growing fascination.

The female elf, in particular, caught his attention. She had a regal grace about her, an air of authority that belied a high status. Although he noted that most elves held themselves similarly, there was something different in the way she acted that was accentuated by the deference and respect her two companions gave her. Eragon was quickly finding it hard not to look at the elf.

Her beauty delighted his eyes and he felt a sudden urge to go talk to her. She had flowing raven-black hair and stunning slanted green eyes that sparkled in the torchlight. Tall slender and tawny, with flawless skin, she was for him the most beautiful elf he had ever seen. Suddenly, as if she had sensed him looking at her, her eyes shot towards him and he quickly looked away. Slapping himself mentally for staring he walked over to where his family had taken their seats amongst the other Riders and sat down next to his mother, who leaned in towards him.

"Admiring the elves now, are we?" she asked him, amusement twinkling in her eyes.

Eragon blushed and hoped that it was dark enough that she could not see that he was. He mumbled that he was simply surprised to see non-Rider elves here.

She smiled and pinched his cheek lightly, "Don't worry. We shall introduce you to them later."

His stomach flipped at that and his heart pounded with both excitement and fear. Excitement at getting to meet this beautiful elf and to meet regular elves in general. Fear at what they might think of him. He suddenly wanted to know if his hair looked good and if he smelled okay. Shaking his head, he tried to clear those thoughts away but that was all he could think about as the minutes dragged on. Even when the other Riders spoke to him, which happened a few times, he could not fully get rid of the thought of meeting those elves later and it was evident in the distracted manner in which he went in and out of conversations.

It was then that he noticed the elves walking over to their table. Apparently they were to sit with the Riders, and his heart began to pump faster as he felt some heat rising in his cheeks. She was so close! He tried to calm down and told himself to keep his composure. He did not want to make a fool of himself in front of her. In front of everyone, actually. Taking a few deep breaths, he tried to control his emotions.

"Hail to the Emperor! Long may he live and reign!" cried a Knight who had entered the Great Hall, stepping out of the way as soon as he was finished.

There was a sudden silence as everyone stopped talking, the only sound coming from chairs moving as every person stood.

A few seconds later, the Emperor strode into the room followed by his advisers and some more Knights. He was a tall man with a balding head, the thin white hairs left on his head seemingly clinging for dear life. He had a short beard about half a finger-length long that was also white. Pale blue eyes looked out from underneath bushy white eyebrows. A large jewel-encrusted crown sat on his balding head and every finger on his hands had a ring of some kind on it, even his thumbs.

As he walked, the hall erupted in cheers and individual people greeted him as he passed by them. He smiled, waving his hand and thanking those who were greeting him.

Even though he appeared old, he looked like he still had a good amount of strength in him. He walked with purpose and pride and his back was straight and stiff, showing no ill effects of his old age. Settling at the head table, which was close to the Riders' table, he sat down and everyone else did as well. Spreading his hands out as if he were about to bless everyone, he said with a loud, clear voice: "Let us eat, my friends!"

And with that the food was served. Dozens of servants entered the room carrying trays full of food and drink. There was fish, steaks, chicken, lamb, venison, crabs, lobsters, and of course fruits, bread and vegetables aplenty. There were jugs of water, mead, and wine brought to every table. A big group of musicians had walked in at that point and begun playing some festive music to set the mood.

As he ate, Eragon stole a quick glance over to the elves. From what he had read and seen from the elven Riders, the elves did not eat meat. Sure enough, he saw that the elves that were there ate only greens and fruits with a steady grace and calm that was striking amidst the already slightly inebriated feasting of the humans around them.

-**xxx**-

After dinner, most people stayed in their seats and conversed with those who were at their table. A few people left to go enjoy the festivities firsthand in the streets and some moved around the hall to say hello to others they had not spoken to yet. Brom had gone to talk to some nobles at another table. A few of the Riders, after paying their respects and greeting the Emperor a happy birthday and thanking him for his hospitality had already left. For some of them, the Imperial capital was a little much.

Eragon had noticed that the three elves were talking to two elven Riders sitting near them. They spoke in the ancient language, and even though he was learning it he still could not speak it as fluently and effortlessly as they could. He needed more time and practice to improve, but his father had told him that he wasn't half bad at it. What with the books he was reading and the tutelage of his father and some of the other Riders who chipped in every now and again, he was able to learn so much since he started studying the ancient language only about a year ago.

"You know, if you looked at her anymore she might think it quite rude," her mother murmured to him, a small smile playing on her lips.

Eragon jumped in his seat a little, surprised at the whisper of his mother having not noticed she had returned to her seat next to him after talking with a few friends at another table. Again he blushed and he could feel the heat rushing to his cheeks.

"She is quite beautiful, isn't she?" her mother said softly, and all Eragon could do was nod as he forced himself to look away from the elf he had been admittedly gawking at since he saw her. He did not trust his voice or his mind in that moment.

A few minutes ticked by. Selena turned to Eragon and stood, grabbing him by the arm and bringing him along with her. He protested weakly, realizing what she was about to do, and lightly tugged to try and get away from her, but his heart was beating too fast and his nerves were tingling. He could not find the strength to tear away from her grip and so it was that his mother brought him before the elves. He immediately stiffened and tried to act natural.

Their eyes all turned towards his mother then at him, and he opened his mouth to say something but then words failed him.

Selena touched two fingers to her lips and said, "Atra esterní ono thelduin."

The elves inclined their heads and touched two fingers to their lips, each of them saying, "Mor'ranr lífa unin hjarta onr."

"Un du evarínya ono varda," finished Selena, and the elves smiled at that.

Eragon's heart skipped a beat, or so he thought, when he saw the female elf break into a small smile. Her green eyes bored into his, and though he wanted to avert his gaze he could not. He wondered if she was using magic on him, but discarded that absurd thought.

"It has been a while, Selena. You look well. How are you?" inquired the female elf, her gaze shifting to his mother.

Eragon's entire body was tightening. His rigidity was uncomfortable, but he found he could not relax at all. Why was he acting like this? He wanted to relax and be natural, but his body seemingly refused, the blood thumping in his temples.

"You are too kind, Arya. I am doing well. You should speak to my husband later, I am sure he would love to talk with you," Selena replied.

Arya inclined her head, "Then I shall speak to him. It has been longer still since I last saw him."

"And is this your son, my lady?" asked one of the male elves, looking over at Eragon and smiling.

Selena put a hand on his shoulder, "Indeed he is. The one and only. Aren't you going to say hello, Eragon?"

There was a pause, and though it was only a second or two it felt like an eternity for Eragon. He finally managed to say, "Hello there."

The two male elves looked amused while the female one had an unreadable face. Even her eyes did not betray her emotions.

"I am happy to meet you, Eragon Bromsson," said the female elf courteously, "I am Arya, and my two companions here are Fäolin and Glenwing." Each of them smiled and gave a short nod as she introduced them.

"It is... it is a real pleasure to meet you," Eragon finally mustered, "I have not met many elves who were not also Riders."

"We elves rarely travel outside of Du Weldenvarden," replied Fäolin this time, "At least those of us who aren't Riders."

His mother and the elves talked for a little longer before they excused themselves and returned to their seats further down the table. The whole time Eragon was willing himself not to look too long upon her, making sure to give each elf equal amounts of his gaze. Eventually, they excused themselves and split up.

"You're welcome," his mother said as they returned to their seats.

Eragon mumbled a sheepish thank you, his cheeks still somewhat red as he stole another glance at Arya. Her back was to him as she conversed with another elven Rider, her two companions not far away.

The rider next to Eragon, named Kristoff, clapped him on the back breaking him from his thoughts. Kristoff leaned close to him, his eyes staring at Arya, then he looked at Eragon. "Just some words of advice. Elves are a strange lot, Eragon. You should be careful around them if you decide to interact with them more in the future. But I can't blame you for having eyes for that one right there." He grinned and winked at Eragon, whose blush deepened, and then turned back to a conversation the other Riders were having. Something about rumors of a shade or shadow or something like that.

For the next half hour there was much drinking, laughter, and conversation and besides occasionally looking over at Arya, Eragon found nothing else to do and was starting to feel bored. Draining the last of the water from his mug, he sighed and began speculating whether or not anything interesting was going to happen. Right on cue, it was then that a servant loudly announced that the festivities were to finally proceed outside. There was another courtyard on the other side of the castle, and that was where everyone went. Big tents were set up, inside of which was more food and refreshments.

In the middle of all the tents was a large bonfire. There were chairs and benches that had been brought out so that people could sit, but for the most part it would be a standing-room only celebration. There was a juggler who juggled flaming clubs and a group of three men who were doing all sorts of acrobatics both individually and together as a group. There was a dart throwing competition going on as well as a few other sources of entertainment. For the most part though the guests merely mingled and talked with each other.

Everyone took turns walking over to the Emperor and greeting him, thanking him for his hospitality and his work and wishing him long life. When it was Brom and his family's turn, Eragon felt rather nervous and small to be meeting a man of such immense power and authority. Perhaps the only other person to make him feel this way just in being in his presence was Vrael. He wondered what he should say, if even he should say anything, but then decided to remain silent unless directly spoken to. That seemed like a proper course of action for the situation.

"Ah, Brom! Good to see you, good to see you," greeted the Emperor heartily, "It's been some time since you last graced my halls with your presence, Rider. I hope all is well?"

Brom bowed his head, "As always, it is a pleasure to see you, your grace. My apologies, but yes all is well, I have simply been very busy of late."

"Mmm... And this is your family, I presume?"

"Indeed, your highness. This is my wife, Selena and my son Eragon."

The Emperor, smiling, nodded to Selena, "My lady," he said in greeting, then to Brom, "You're a lucky man to have such a beautiful woman in your life." Then turning to Eragon, he added, "My! This does make me feel old, seeing how big your son is already. Your son here looks like he's ready for his dragon, I think. " He laughed a little at that, his eyes alight with energy.

Brom nodded, "Soon enough, I should think. In any case, we would not want to keep your attention for too long, your grace. The other guests may get jealous. We would like to express our warmest thanks for inviting us to celebrate such an important day with you and we wish you long life and more birthdays to come."

The Emperor thanked them. "I hope you have not found the hospitality of my hall to be wanting. And always remember that you are welcome here, Brom," he added as they moved away and someone else went up to the Emperor to greet him.

The rest of the night passed with little fanfare as Eragon was too tired to do much of anything else besides sit and either look around or talk with the occasional person who recognized him or his family. Eventually, they decided to retire and after what seemed like leagues of walking they made it back to Taric's home. The butler answered the door and soon enough Eragon was back under the cover and fast asleep. His dreams filled with elves.

-**xxx**-

Their stay in Ileria went by fast. It felt like yesterday that they had just arrived, and already they were set to leave. Selena and Eragon were to travel on horses back along with a caravan to Therinsford while Brom went off with Sephyr on Rider business. As their horses trotted out of the northern gates of the city, Eragon glimpsed Sephyr and his father fly high overheard. The blue dragon let out a roar that unnerved the horses slightly. Eragon wished at that moment he had a dragon already.

He knew his time was coming soon to be presented before the dragon eggs to see if one would hatch for him. Just thinking about it made his heart beat faster with excitement. He gripped the reins tighter as he imagined flying from place to place, free to go wherever he pleased and no longer needing to ride on horses. Travel would be so much faster and easier, not to mention the view from up there was far better.

Once they were a ways away, Eragon turned in his saddle to look at the city. It was still large even from a few miles away, but it was slowly shrinking back towards the horizon. Eragon's thoughts turned again to the elves he met, and in particular Arya. He wondered if he would ever see her again. Thinking about her made him grip the reins tighter. He really hoped he would see her again, sooner rather than llater. And perhaps on that next encounter, he would be able to say more than a few words.

Ileria was a distant blob on the horizon by the time they stopped to rest and camp for the night.

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><p><strong>AN: **So whaddya think so far? :)


	4. Hatchling

_**DISCLAIMER: **_The Inheritance Cycle is not owned by me. Christopher Paolini owns that universe which he created.

**NOTE THIS IS AN ALTERNATE UNIVERSE STORY SO I _WILL_ BE CHANGING THINGS FROM THE BOOKS.**

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><p><strong>Edge of Oblivion<strong>

_Chapter III - Hatchling_

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><p>Eragon held the practice sword firmly in his hands. It was a hand-and-a-half sword, which suited his fighting style perfectly for it was neither too long nor too short and was thus an excellent blade for all manners of fighting - whether in cramped spaces or in wide open fields. His stance was strong and balanced and he was focused on the task at hand: defeating his father.<p>

Brom attacked him then, and he stepped back, parrying and blocking the blows just as quickly as they came. Eragon counter-attacked, then defended his father's response, then counter-attacked again. They went back and forth several times. Although it was clear that his father was the superior swordsman, the Rider only went so far as to test the boy to his limits.

Every day since the day he was able to hold the wooden practice sword his father had taught him how to handle a blade. At first his grip was weak and his arms jelly after only a few minutes of swinging a wooden sword around. He remembered despairing those first few days, wondering how he was going to wield a steel blade if he could barely even hang on to a wooden one.

Slowly, he started to see progress as he got stronger and better able to handle the wooden sword. Eventually, he became strong enough to actually spar with his father, and it was those lessons that taught him the most. Practicing on your own was good, but practicing your skills against another was even better.

"You are holding your sword _too _tightly, Eragon. You must hold it a little looser so you are not as rigid in your arms. That will help to smoothen your movement, and it will also help you last longer in a fight since your arms won't tire as quickly," Brom instructed, watching as Eragon made an effort to relax, "There you go. Firm but relaxed. Doesn't that feel better?"

Definitely better. He could already feel the difference. His forearms had begun to hurt slightly from gripping the sword too tightly earlier. And, of course, his father was right as they traded blows again and Eragon found that he was responding faster and more fluidly. Still not nearly on par with his father's skill, but a step in the right direction.

While Eragon definitely had the speed advantage over his father, Brom was still stronger and far more experienced. Eragon was, as Brom had pointed out to him before, definitely a natural swordsman though.

"In a fight, you have to let yourself get into the habit of moving without much thought, trusting your instincts and your reflexes," said Brom as their wooden swords clacked against each other,"Moving your sword must become second nature to you. It must be an extension of your arm, of yourself. In any sword fight or a battle it is easier to block and then attack than it is to attack first unless you are not only more skilled than the other person but are also fast enough to land a blow and strong enough to see it through. At least, I am speaking from my experience. I admit that my style of fighting is more defensive-oriented, while other Riders are more offense-oriented in their fighting style. In whatever style, reaction time is crucial. The more you think while you fight, the slower your actions will be. And a slow swordsman is a dead swordsman," he finished.

Eragon nodded as they danced around, their blades lashing out at all angles at each other. A few bruises stung different parts of his body, and though he had managed to hit his dad once, Eragon believed that the old man had let him since the gap between their skills was still far too great. At the end of the sparring match, Brom raised his hand to signal that it was over and then went over and hugged him. "You have improved so much, son. I am proud to say that you'll definitely be a much better swordsman than I later on in your life."

With those words Eragon beamed and felt happy for the rest of the day. The admission made him even more excited and willing to learn and do his best at handling a sword. Later on, he started reading a book on true names of objects in the Ancient Language. He also practiced what he knew in the Ancient Language with his father and Sephyr after supper and before bedtime. He was progressing faster as he dedicated himself to learning everything that his father wanted to teach him, particularly the Ancient Language. Partly because he wished to be able to converse properly with elves the next time he saw one, and there was one elf in particular who he wanted to see again.

-**xxx**-

Brom rubbed a hand down his face, feeling very tired. The senior and elder Riders had been called together for another meeting. There were twenty-two of them, seven elders and fifteen seniors. The remaining members were fourteen junior Riders, who were not present. It had been several weeks since the Emperor's birthday and the revelries of that day were already long forgotten, replaced instead by the weariness of travel and work. Even though the Riders' services were not always needed during this welcome time of peace, there were still problems and dangers to take care of all across the land. They needed to maintain the peace after all.

"I am telling you, brothers and sisters, this Shade is too much of a danger. We _must_ hunt him down immediately before he gets any stronger. There is no doubt in my mind he is plotting something terrible for Alagaësia, and the sooner we act the better. As many Riders as can be spared must be sent out to search for this dark foe," said one of the senior Riders, blue eyes flashing. Some of the other Riders in the room nodded their heads at that statement.

"No, to fly out with such numbers is folly," responded one of the elders, sitting back in his chair with a deep frown, "He will surely hear of our movements and going out in force will likely scare him into hiding once again. We must lure him into a false sense of security so that he exposes himself, and _then _we strike at him. This Shade is stronger than you think, and his magic may yet hide him from us should we scour the entire Empire for him en masse."

There were murmurs of agreement with that statement too.

"All I am saying is that the longer we wait the more chance there is his plans will be set in motion and it may be too late to stop them. We all know the destruction a Shade can cause, and if we can prevent it before it gets worse we must do so. It is our duty to protect this land from such evil," said the first Rider.

One of the other senior Riders then asked, "Has anyone actually seen this Shade? Confirmed that this is a real threat and not simply someone pretending to be a Shade?"

Oromis, one of the elders, shook his head. "None of us have seen the Shade ourselves. He is extremely careful of his movements and it is difficult to sneak up on a Shade, especially when you ride a dragon through the sky. We do have accounts from witnesses and there are whispers in the land of his name, as you all know by now."

"So we don't know for sure," stated the same senior Rider, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

Vrael finally spoke, his eyes fastening onto the senior Rider who had asked the question, "He exists, Hefflin, this is not speculation. I have delved into the minds of those who say they saw him, and as much as I do not like to admit it, what they say is the truth. The Shade Durza is real." His words weighed heavily upon them.

"We have known about him for years, why have we not acted already?" asked another senior Rider, breaking the silence that had ensued.

The first elder who spoke previously, an elf named Roppen, replied, "Because he knows we are already hunting him upon learning of his existence. Unlike previous Shades that we have dealt with, this Shade went into hiding and has been keeping a far lower profile than his predecessors. He is by far the most cunning Shade I have witnessed, having evaded us for so long. And I have fought against two other Shades in the past. I do not know how he has evaded us thus far, for even though we do not go out in force our patrols still search for him, any trace of him at all. And so far there have been nothing but whispers and shadows here and there."

Brom did not like the fact that there was a Shade in Alagaësia, particularly one who as skillful and cunning as this. Worst of all, the Shade appeared to be more active as of late, indicating that either the Shade had something big planned that was coming soon or the Shade has become more confident in his abilities and less fearful of the Riders. He preferred the former over the latter in that regard. Despite wanting to get rid of the Shade as quickly as possible, he agreed with Roppen in that they must not frighten him into hiding again by riding out in force. They must act as if they are not actively searching for the Shade. Now that he was becoming more active, the Shade will more likely be found. Even though it pained him that their methods would mean that some people would suffer, it was for the greater good. Diving it into hiding would merely prolong the plague that he has set upon the land. He wished it would decide to kill itself and save them the trouble of killing him - though that was as likely to happen as him turning into an Urgal. Or even making friends with one.

Another ten minutes of discussion passed before it was decided that they would wait until a better time to strike with force at the Shade. However, as a compromise for those who felt more action was needed they would increase the frequency of the patrols along the center of the Empire and along its border with the Hadarac Desert, areas where it seemed the Shade, who is apparently called Durza, was sighted in.

The next order of business was to discuss the upcoming Hatching Ceremony for the two Rider-children who were to come of age soon. Both the son of Brom and the son of Morzan could have a chance to be a Rider. While it has never been thoroughly proven, the offspring of Riders often become Riders themselves, and so because of this they must undergo the ceremony.

On this matter Brom was both excited and nervous. If his son turned out to be a Rider, it would bring him immense joy, but the nervousness stemmed from the dangers he would then be exposed to. As a Rider, he would have duties and responsibilities that came with the position. He would have no chance to live a normal life, and that was something that sometimes Brom wished he had. He was snapped out of his thinking by Vrael, who had spoken to him and gotten his attention.

"Forgive me, Vrael, my mind wanders elsewhere. What is it that you were saying?" he apologized, leaning forward.

Vrael repeated what he had asked with no hint of any expected irritation from having to repeat himself, "Do you believe your son is ready and willing to be a Rider?"

Brom thought for a minute on that, then replied, "I believe he has room to get ready, but he is most definitely willing."

Vrael asked Morzan the same question, and his reply was different: "Murtagh is more than ready and more than willing. He will be a Rider, I swear it," said the other senior Rider, his tone one of conviction and determination.

With that, it was decided that they would undergo the ceremony three days hence.

-**xxx**-

Eragon swiftly nocked an arrow to his bow, making sure to do it as silently as possible. His breathing slowed and he took only shallow breaths to further minimize noise. Crouching behind some bushes, he could see the hind part of the doe he had been hunting for the better part of the last hour and a half. Carefully, he inched forward, minding his step so as not to step onto anything that might make a sound and alert the doe, such as a stick that he narrowly avoided stepping on.

It was chewing up some leaves off of a thick bush, completely oblivious to the mortal danger it was in. It's ears twitched and it looked up every now and again, but it did not sense Eragon just yet.

Sunlight streamed through the canopy of the trees, shafts of light piercing through the leaves and branches. A slight breeze blew and the forest responded with the rustling of leaves. This caused the doe to freeze and bring its head up, eyes wide and legs tensed and ready to move. This was actually the perfect time to strike, for in order to preserve itself the doe was staying completely still. What it did not know was that because it was still it had become a much easier target.

Eragon held his breath, afraid that maybe even his shallow breathing might be heard. With practiced ease he raised his bow and pulled the string back. Making sure he was aiming properly, he sent an arrow hurtling towards the doe. It struck its flank above the front left leg. It grunted after being hit and dashed away, blood trickling out of the arrow wound.

Cursing, Eragon broke cover and chased after it. He had hit it right where he wanted, and yet the doe still had strength to run. No matter, it would stop and collapse soon, but Eragon still didn't like running after a wounded animal like that, especially when he was running blindly into wherever the doe was going. He was in the Spine after all, and it was dangerous to be out there alone and moving so loudly. One of the predators in the Spine might see him and he would be in big trouble, especially if it was one of the big cave bears or even wild wolves. Thankfully, there was a trail of blood to follow, for the doe had already gotten lost in the foliage about ten seconds into Eragon chasing after it.

Eragon was panting, sweat covering his skin as he chased after it, eyes always on the lookout for the splotches of blood left behind by the fleeing animal. Pushing through some low-lying branches, he finally reached the doe, which was lying on its side, a bloody arrow protruding from its flank. Its breathing was fast and ragged, eyes wide and fearful, as its life slowly ebbed away. Taking out his hunting knife, he knelt beside its head and then slit its throat, killing it quicker and ending its pain. A few seconds later and the doe was completely still. Taking off his pack, he began to skin it and carve it up. Tomorrow they were going to have venison.

His pack much heavier - and smellier - than when he had left the house, he trudged east through the forest back towards Therinsford and Palancar Valley. He would not make it back home by nightfall, and traveling through the Spine in the dark alone without a proper weapon was a bad idea. As the day waned he finally decided to stop and camp at a small grove. He placed one of the blankets he had brought on the ground and then put up a tent over it. Placing his bow within arm's reach as well as his dagger, he munched on some seasoned bread that he had packed. The light from the moon was bright enough that he had no need to start a fire in order to see, and that was fine by him. While a fire may keep him warmer and help to scare off some critters, it would also attract attention.

Lying in his tent, his mind turned to his training, which had intensified over the past few weeks since his visit to Ileria.

His swordsmanship was much better now than when he had started and he could hold his own more often against his father, who he knew was still holding back so as not to overwhelm him. His skill with a bow was also well-honed from all the hunting as well as through target practice whenever he had some time. Brom had also finally begun teaching him how to use a spear and other weapons of war recently, such as axes and clubs, in case he should have need of such skills. All of it was new to him and challenging, but he embraced the difficulties. He knew had to be stronger if he wanted to be a Rider, after all, and he did want to join their ranks. Plus he felt it was the only way to make his father proud, and because he had been around so many Riders a part of him already considered himself to be one.

_Soon enough__ I shall be officially one of them_, he thought, _at least I hope it will be so_.

He still was not sure when he would get the chance, but he knew he would not hesitate if it was given to him. Fairly recently, his father had finally begun teaching him about magic. Thanks to his decent knowledge of the ancient language he could say the spells and think of what he wanted well enough - the problem so far was that he had been unable to tap into this inner energy that turned these ancient words into magic spells. Brom had told him that he would be able to do so with more practice and focus and had told him not to worry too much about it.

Crawling to the mouth of his tent, he picked up a small stone from the ground, recalling the simple phrase his father had taught him. Concentrating on the stone, he whispered, "Stenr raisa." A few seconds ticked by and yet nothing happened. One more time, and the stone remained mockingly still. He tried a few more times, then frustration overtook him and he threw the stone far into the darkness, laying back down. Upset at himself, he wrapped himself with his blanket. Thinking about everything he still needed to work on and learn, he drifted into the dreamworld.

The sound of chirping birds awoke him, and he noticed that there was a pale light that illuminated everything around him. Slowly, his mind sharpened and he finally awoke fully. He began to roll up his blanket, and when that was done he took down and packed his tent. Clasping the dagger onto his belt and slinging his backpack over his shoulder, he set off for the remainder of his journey home, bow in hand and quiver on his back next to his pack. It took him half a day of traversing the safe mountain passes that he and his father had discovered, and he finally began to descend into Palancar Valley at the area between Carvahall and Therinsford. The sun was beginning its approach towards the horizon as he picked his way down the last slope carefully.

The sun was setting when he arrived back in Therinsford, weaving his way through the haphazardly placed wooden buildings and houses. Their house was on the southeastern outskirts of the town, so he had to cross the entire town to get home. Stopping finally in front of his own, he fished out the keys from one of his pockets and let himself in. After locking the door he brought his pack into the kitchen and proceeded to unpack the meat he had gotten, careful to throw most of it into an icebox nearby that was partially filled with other meat that he and his father had gathered on their hunts the past few weeks.

"Eragon! It's about time you got back," his mother said, a slight tinge of worry in her voice. Although he was near old enough to take care of himself and was being trained by Brom, she still could not help but feel nervous and fearful whenever he went out on his own, particularly to the Spine. "Are you okay?"

"Yes, mother, I'm fine. Guess what though? I managed to get us some venison. Tracked and took down a decent-sized doe," he informed her, glad to see his mother smile happily at the news.

"Excellent! Well done, Eragon. I'll start cooking some of it up so we can have some of it tonight. Oh! You must be hungry."

The boy laughed, waving his hands. "Don't worry, mother, I'm not too hungry yet. I can wait for the venison to cook. No need to rush either."

She was already bustling about, grabbing some of the meat he had just brought in, readying the seasonings and some vegetables and lighting a cooking fire.

The venison turned out to be fantastic, though that was largely due to the cooking of his mother rather than the quality of the meat. The rest of the night was uneventful, with Eragon retiring extra early because of how tired he was from all the traveling he had done.

Daytime dawned soon enough. Rolling out of bed, Eragon finished his morning routine and then went downstairs to for breakfast. His mother told him that his father should be by within a few hours.

"At least he told me he would be back by today from whatever it is he's off doing," she mumbled as she and Eragon cleaned up the kitchen after having breakfast.

Brom arrived around midday and when Eragon saw him the older man walked over and hugged him tightly without saying a word, an unreadable expression on his face. Unsure of what to do, Eragon just hugged him back.

"Welcome home, father. Where did you go this time?" he asked as they parted.

"Vroengard. There was an important meeting I had to attend," replied Brom cryptically. After a minute, Brom called Selena and asked her and Eragon to sit themselves down. He began to pace the room then, and Eragon started to wonder what it was that was on his mind.

Selena sighed in an exasperated manner at her husband's hesitation. "Oh, come now! Out with it already. What's this about?"

Brom finally stopped pacing and looked at Eragon specifically. "The Riders have decided that Eragon shall take part in a special Hatching Ceremony two days from now," he said, his words stunning them both.

To say he was shocked would have been a complete understatement. A wave of emotions washed over Eragon, none the least of which was excitement and anxiety and of course nervousness. He had wanted to be a Rider ever since he had learned about them and that his father was a senior member of their ranks. He had longed to have a dragon to be at his side and for him to fly over Alagaësia, keeping people safe and fighting against evil. At that moment he wanted to run to Carvahall and talk to Roran, his cousin, about it - he was as close to a brother as Eragon had - but a part of him also did not want him to know for if he failed to become a Rider then he would feel so very much embarrassed.

There was a long moment of silence in the room, no one moved save for the rise and fall of their chests as they breathed. Even Brom was still, silently observing his son's reaction to the news. Then Selena finally went over to Eragon and clasped her arms around him tightly, as she usually did. She said nothing, her actions doing all the talking in this case. Although she did not like it, she was both proud and happy for her son. He was to follow the footsteps of his father, and there was nothing greater in her mind than to be a Rider - a protector of all of Alagaësia.

Eragon was still trying to process the information when his mother finally let go of him after holding back a sob, tears rolling down her cheeks. "Excuse me," she whispered as she left the room in a sudden hurry.

Brom finally moved and sat down next to the boy, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. For a moment they were quiet as neither one deigned to speak to the other, then Eragon finally managed to speak.

"Father. Do you think... do you think I am ready?" He himself was not sure if he was ready for the task. All this time he had been itching for the chance, training to be strong enough to become a great Rider. Now that it was looming over him the position of Dragon Rider seemed so daunting and so very real now.

Brom's mouth twisted into a small smile, "I believe in you, Eragon. You are my son, and I have every confidence that you are ready for what lies ahead." What Brom did not tell him, however, was that there was a chance that none of the eggs he was presented to would hatch. There was always the possibility of complete rejection, but rarely has that happened to an offspring of a Rider - those being few and far between in the first place. Usually, for they were few in number and often far apart, any offspring of a Rider turned into a Rider himself. As was the case with the current Riders Yetta and Pelios, who were father and son respectively.

"I've always dreamed about this moment," said Eragon, his voice sounding seemingly far away. "But it never felt like it does now. It's... hard to think that this is finally happening."

Brom squeezed his shoulder in reassurance, "Dreams are most always different from reality, Eragon. But the reason we have dreams is so we can strive to make them reality. Just think, once you become a Rider we shall travel across the skies of Alagaësia together, as father and son."

Eragon smiled broadly at that, his apprehension lifting for the moment. It would be nice to finally be able to be both with his father and yet separate. While it was a little sad that he would no longer have need to ride Sephyr, and he loved the big dragon as if he were his own, he was looking forward to having his very own dragon. For a moment he imagined both he and Brom gliding along the clouds, their dragons circling and playing with each other. He hoped that it would come to pass and did not merely reside in the land of dreams.

He turned to his father then and in all seriousness and with curiosity asked, "So how does it work?"

Brom removed his arm from around Eragon and stood up, still smiling. "You shall find out soon enough, my son."

-**xxx-**

The next two days passed by agonizingly slow, at least to Eragon. Nothing could distract him from thoughts of the upcoming Ceremony, however it was to be conducted. Brom still refused to tell him what happened, and so the young man resorted to his imagination. Perhaps the Riders would test him somehow, maybe in combat and magic and perhaps in the ancient language - all things that Brom had emphasized he should study and master. Or perhaps they would make him fight some strong, wild beast to prove his worth. His train of thought followed along such lines, and some of his ideas became so fanciful he realized that he was making himself more anxious and nervous by thinking about it so much.

Yet even while he read his books, or practiced his swordsmanship, he could not escape the lingering thoughts about the Ceremony. They dominated his mind every second of the days that passed, and it was with great relief that he realized it was the day of the Ceremony. His father had told him it was called the Hatching Ceremony, and so he assumed that he would definitely see a dragon egg by the end of the day. He wondered what color it would be and what he would do. He wondered if there would be any challenges, and it was another ten minutes of such wondering before he finally found the will to calm his thoughts.

All three of them were to travel to Doru Araeba so that Selena would be able to see him as soon as the Ceremony ended. They returned to the clearing where they had originally met Sephyr when they flew to Ileria, and again there waited the large dark blue dragon. His mind touched all of theirs and greeted them, focusing on Eragon in particular with his thoughts.

_Be calm, little Eragon. You will be fine_, he said as it sensed the young man's feeling of dread.

With the booming of his mighty wings as they flapped, they flew up and away from the Spine and headed towards the island of Vroengard. They were silent along the way, not one of them speaking as each was lost in their own thoughts. Eragon in particular had adrenaline rushing through his veins already in anticipation of what was to come. He sent a prayer to whatever gods existed above that by the end of the day he would have his very own dragon.

Doru Araeba was quiet, the city's streets mostly empty. Although it was a small city, there were a number of inhabitants there - most were supporters and servants of the Riders who wanted to help them in whatever capacity they were able to. Even then, the city was not even at half capacity with many of its buildings and homes empty. It was as they approached the Citadel of Doru Araeba that he realized they were all gathered there. Every inhabitant of the city was present in the courtyard of the Rider's Citadel, towering high over the city and carved partly into the mountainside.

Dragons were perched on stone roosts built specifically for them above the taller and larger buildings, most of them watching the approaching Sephyr with interest, and Eragon counted at least thirty of them. _Most of the Riders are here_, he thought. Although he had seen many Riders at once before, rarely had he seen most every Rider present in one place at one time. This was a momentous occasion indeed, not just for him he realized but for the rest of the Riders as well. It had been a long time since they had added new members to their ranks and all of them had been told of the special Ceremony that was to come.

Every year, the Riders accepted candidates from all over to come and partake in a public Hatching ceremony, and the Ceremony for this year had already occurred many months ago with no Riders emerging from that pool of candidates. Not too surprising, given that in the last three decades rarely has a dragon hatched. Some of the Riders talked of reforming the candidacy rules to try and cast a wider net and have more candidates, but the Elders refused to alter tradition.

Sephyr landed without incident and they dismounted quickly, not one of them saying a word still as they walked into the Citadel.

Eragon could feel many sets of eyes staring at him as he walked towards the Citadel. Selena grabbed his hand, making him stop and turn to her, and she squeezed it tightly. Her expression was guarded, though her eyes betrayed her for they shone with worry. He smiled at her and she let go of his hand, following Brom into the Citadel. Selena remained outside, for no one besides the Riders were allowed within the Citadel.

The air was damper inside and a little cooler as his eyes adjusted to the dimmer lighting. Following his father, they made their way through the Citadel, until they reached a set of enormous stone doors large enough for Sephyr to walk through comfortably. The doors opened into a central, circular atrium. The ceiling was many hundreds of feet above them, carved into a dome-like shape. Across from where they had entered was another set of stone doors, with dragons and warriors carved into them.

They walked through those doors as well and into a great hallway, at the end of which was yet another set of enormous stone doors. This time, one giant dragon was carved into the set of them, its eyes large red rubies and it was adorned with many gems. Upon closer inspection, Eragon realized the door was not made of stone but rather was entirely golden. Brom opened these doors as well, and the room they entered Eragon realized was full of people.

Oromis, one of the elders, stood in the middle of the circular room. All around the room were stone steps that also acted as seats for an assembly. Scattered about were all the current Riders, and Eragon counted thirty-two of them. From his knowledge, there were supposed to be thirty-six, and he wondered what those four missing Riders were doing that they would miss the Hatching Ceremony.

Brom clasped Eragon's shoulder and squeezed it one more time as father and son looked at each other. Eragon noticed for a split second that his father's eyes were beginning to wet, but then the older man blinked and his face became unreadable. Brom left him then, pushing him slightly towards Oromis in the center of the room before taking a seat as part of the assembled Riders.

It was only then that Eragon realized there was another boy there standing next to Oromis. He also looked apprehensive and preoccupied, his fierce gray eyes staring intently into space and his long brown hair flowing past his ears and stopping just before his shoulders. He looked to be slightly older than Eragon and was definitely a little bigger in terms of height and weight. Eragon stood on the other side of Oromis, and satisfied that everyone was ready to begin the elder began to speak.

"Today, these two young men shall undergo the Hatching Ceremony. I know that we have already had one this year, but this is special, for this ceremony is strictly for the offspring of our Riders. It has been a long time since we have added new Riders into our ranks, the last of which were Riders whose dragons hatched twelve years ago," he began, "It is my hope that today these young men shall join us as Riders. As you all know, the Hatching Ceremony may take some time, but we shall be patient for today we can welcome into our ranks as brothers these future Riders." He paused, "Should they be deemed worthy by a dragon, they shall begin with haste with their training. May they find it in themselves to be true to their spirit so that a dragon may accept them as their Rider."

"Now," continued the old Rider, his gaze sweeping the assembled Riders, "Is there any here who would protest the participation of either of these two young men in the Hatching Ceremony?"

The room was silent.

"Very well. You two have now been accepted by the Riders into the Ceremony," said Oromis, "Do you protest your participation here? If you so choose you may leave now and not partake in the Ceremony. Know that if you do, you will never be invited to undergo the Ceremony again."

Oromis then, with a flick of his hand, closed the golden doors through which Eragon had entered. They groaned and then slammed shut with a bang that echoed throughout the room. Then he turned and, eyes alight with energy, raised his right hand towards a door about ten feet tall that Eragon had failed to see originally. He began to chant something under his breath in the ancient language, and after a few seconds runes that were etched all around the door began to glow, their light getting brighter as Oromis continued his chant. Then, with a sudden finality, he ended it and then the doors slowly moved open.

"Come, young ones. Follow me," he said as he walked and went through the doorway. Murtagh followed without hesitation but Eragon stood still for a few moments, his legs rooted to the ground. Then he made up his mind and with great determination on his face he strode after them. His muscles were tense, and though he tried to relax them he was unable to. His heart raced and he could feel the adrenaline in his veins, making his hands shake slightly as his eyes widened and his breathing sped up.

The doorway had led to a winding pathway hewn into the rock of the mountain. Eragon speculated that they were now deep within the heart of the mountain into which the Citadel had been carved, and he marveled at the great skill it took to build such a place. He briefly thought that maybe the dwarves had helped to build this place and made a mental note to try and read up on history of Doru Araeba.

They finally walked into a large, dark room. A steel stone railing kept them from falling over as Eragon realized they were a few feet above the floor of the room they had entered. A lone stairwell wound down to the ground. Oromis stopped and turned to them. "Beyond these steps you will see the dragon eggs that we have in our keeping. I shall stay here and watch you as you progress, but you must walk through all the rows and touch each egg. After doing so, you must wait about one minute before you move on. It is a long process, but it is a thorough one and it is a process we have done throughout the centuries," said Oromis.

Eragon openly displayed his surprise, "Wait... that's it?" he asked.

Oromis looked at him quizzically, "How do you mean, youngling?"

Eragon could not believe it. "I mean, that's it? All we have to do is walk by the eggs and touch them? That is your Hatching Ceremony?" And all this time he thought there would be some sort of trial or challenge. His father could have told him as much and he would not have been so nervous and worked up about it! He would have words with his father later on the matter. He shook his head slightly, still unable to believe the simplicity of this Hatching Ceremony.

Oromis smiled, "There is no other way. The dragon inside the egg will choose whether you are worthy or not to be its Rider. Even if we tested you and found you worthy in our eyes, should no dragon think the same then you would not have a dragon and would therefore be rejected by the Ceremony, unable to be a Rider. And in doing so you will never be able to go through the Ceremony again."

"It's a one time thing?" the other young man suddenly asked.

Oromis nodded, "Indeed. A dragon knows what kind of a Rider it wants, and it will not change its mind once made. Either it chooses you, or not. Now, we must not waste any more time. The process is a long one, and the Riders present cannot leave unless you are finished or there is an emergency of the utmost importance." With that he nudged them down the steps, remaining at the top of them and watching as they descended. As they were a few feet down the steps, Oromis suddenly clapped his hands and yelled, "Brisingr!"

Torches that lined the walls burst to life as well as many candles all around. The room had stone tables and on each stone table were several large stones of differing colors and designs. Each stone, or egg in this case, was set onto a small depression that had been carved into the surface of the stone tables, keeping them in place. There were six tables all in all, two columns of three tables. And on each table there were six eggs, for a total of thirty-six.

The other young man walked ahead of Eragon. He began on the right-hand column, touching the first egg immediately but then looking at it warily.

Eragon meanwhile started on the left-hand side of the room. He hesitated at first, but then reached out and touched the smooth stone that lay before him. He waited a minute, and when nothing happened he moved on. A little over a half hour later, they had touched every single egg in the room and yet nothing had happened. Panic struck Eragon then. He felt suddenly lost, _I... failed?_ he thought.

The other one there also looked troubled, inspecting his hands as if they were to blame for not having any dragons hatch for him.

Oromis spoke then, his voice echoing from where he stood, "Now that you have touched each dragon egg, they know of your presence and they have judged you. Next, you must rap each egg once more with your closed fist. As if you were knocking on a door, but rather than that you would be knocking on the egg. Only knock on it once, and then wait again a minute. This is your test now, for if they deem you worthy once you knock on their egg they will hatch for you. If nothing happens after this, then you have been rejected and you must move on to the next egg."

Eragon was relieved, except now that he knew the next part was to be final he did not want to go through it so quickly. He reasoned that perhaps the dragon would need a little more time, so as he went through he waited a little longer than a minute before continuing on. Roughly thirty minutes in, he was down to the last table. The other person had just knocked on the last egg on the second-to-last table and when nothing happened he turned to leave but then a crack echoed throughout the room. They both stood rooted to the ground as another crack resounded across the walls. Eragon turned towards the egg the other young man had just come from and it was moving.

It was a red and orange egg, and it reflected the torchlight in such a way that it looked as if it were itself burning. Although he could not see the cracks, he knew they were there, as another one echoed through the room again. The other young man was visibly excited at that point, and Eragon felt a wave of jealousy wash over him as the egg finally broke and out came a red-scaled lizard with small wings. The other young man let loose a cry of satisfaction and triumph, making Eragon turn away from him and go the last table. He felt devoid of emotion as he began to rap on each egg with his right knuckle.

Six eggs left. Five. Four. Despair began to eat at him, realizing that there were fewer and fewer chances now.

Three.

Two.

Eragon's body felt numb and his mind was whirl of emotions as his legs brought him towards the remaining eggs. He did not even notice that the other young man hissed in pain for a while, eventually walking back up the stairs, a tiny red dragon cradled in his hands. Eragon swallowed hard to clear his throat. A sudden thirst hit him, mind spinning as he felt slightly nauseous. Disbelief and disappointment was already beginning to seep into him. How could this be? He would not be a Rider. He had failed somehow. So far, the dragons had deemed him unworthy.

One.

He raised his hand to knock on the final egg, hesitating for a moment.

It was a blue egg with veins of dark blue, the colors of which reminded him of Sephyr, and yet it was of a lighter shade. Like that of the sky, not the darkened blue of Sephyr, but more like someone had put a light underneath Sephyr's scales and it was this illuminated blue instead. Time seemed to slow down as he finally rapped on the smooth shell with his knuckle, the sound echoing in the quiet chamber. He counted the seconds in his mind.

A minute passed. Then two.

The awful finality of it all finally struck him and Eragon staggered slightly, feeling unbalanced. The last dragon egg had rejected him too. What would he do now? His world seemed out of sorts. Then he heard it.

_CRACK_.

Eragon stiffened, his mind immediately sharpening and becoming alert. Had he heard correctly? Or was his mind playing tricks on him? Was it simply wishful thinking playing with his hearing?

_CRAAACK._

There it was again. The sound distinctly echoed across the chamber.

_Could it be?_ he thought with a rush of excitement and hope, and he gazed upon the last egg as it sat cradled on its stone pedestal. Dark fissures marred the previously smooth surface of the egg and Eragon's eyes widened at the sight.

_CRACK!_

Out from the egg burst a small dragon, pieces of the shell scattering around the pedestal. It squeaked several times before looking up with its tiny head at him and squeaking some more. The joy and relief that simultaneously rushed through Eragon threatened to make him faint just as the despair and shock he felt earlier almost threatened to do so as well.

The small dragon had intense sapphire blue scales and matching tiny blue eyes that seemed to glow with an ethereal energy. It squeaked at him, cocking its head to the side. Then it cocked its head to the other side, squeaking again, as if it was waiting for him to do something.

Apprehensively, he reached towards it with his right hand. Slowly the distance between the dragon and his hand diminished, until he stopped within an inch of touching the creature, again hesitating.

Another squeak sounded from the dragon, craning its neck and reaching forward with its head to close the gap.

Then his palm finally touched the top of the dragon's head, feeling the dragon's tiny scales and spikes. Almost immediately after physical contact with the creature, his hand began to burn and itch, as if somebody was putting a brand to his palm. He yelped, grabbing his hand in horrified panic and taking a few steps away from the dragon, which began to squeak again.

_What was this sorcery?_ he thought, bewildered. Was this supposed to happen? Several seconds later and the pain began to subside, though his skin was still tender where it had burned. And then he felt the presence of the dragon's mind, a heavy, energetic mental weight that pressed very close to his own consciousness. The dragon's mind was jumbled and incoherent, and for a moment he was a little overwhelmed before he managed to focus on gently pushing the presence away.

The dragon seemed to understand what he was trying to do and the other presence subsided into the background, still present in the fringes but no longer pressing against his mind. He realized this was how Brom and Sephyr's mind link must feel like. A constant presence of another consciousness just on the borders of one's own.

Looking down at his palm, he was shocked to see a silvery spiraling oval mark embedded into his flesh. Then he realized that this was the Rider's mark. In his mind, memories flashed of seeing that mark on the hands of the Riders he had seen. His father had a similar silver mark that he could recall seeing many times before.

He still glared at the dragon as the pain subsided a few seconds later, though his glare diminished as it squeaked at him again rather innocently. After composing himself he managed to gather up the courage to touch the dragon again. This time there was no burning sensation, and the dragon's consciousness kept its distance.

In his arms he took the dragon a moment later and bound up the stairs, his legs feeling springy and his body energized. The relief that flooded through him mixed with the euphoria of officially being a Rider now. He barely noticed that he was grinning from ear-to-ear, though Oromis did and was amused by the youth.

He cradled the sapphire dragon in his arms as it squeaked at him. It looked so small and powerless, he wondered how on earth they grew to be so big. How long would it take for it to grow as big as Sephyr? Eragon hoped it would not take too long, for he wanted to fly as soon as his dragon was able to. Shaking his head and clearing his thoughts about the future, he concentrated on the present and how glad he felt. And how proud his father must be, not only that he was a Rider now, but that his dragon was practically Sephyr's sibling in terms of colors.

Elder Oromis began to speak, but Eragon did not pay much attention to him because of the creature in his arms.

A dragon had deemed him worthy. That was what he had been dreaming and hoping for all his short life so far, and to have it come true made him beyond elated. He looked with wonder at the hatchling in his arms, noting how content it seemed to be there. Not only had he passed the Ceremony, but he was technically a real Rider now. He still could not fathom that thought, and he knew the whole situation would not fully hit him until later. For now though, he enjoyed the sapphire blue being in his arms as they walked back to the assembly, the Ceremony in its closing stages.

The dragon squeaked.

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><p><strong>AN: **Another update! Thank you for the reviews. For those of you wondering why Brom's dragon is named Sephyr: since Eragon will have a dragon named Saphira I thought it would be confusing if there were two Saphiras in the story. While this may have revealed a little of what lies ahead, it's pretty obvious he becomes a Rider so don't fret too much.


	5. Saphira

_**DISCLAIMER: **_The Inheritance Cycle is not owned by me. Christopher Paolini owns that universe which he created.

**NOTE THIS IS AN ALTERNATE UNIVERSE STORY SO I _WILL_ BE CHANGING THINGS FROM THE BOOKS.**

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><p><strong>Edge of Oblivion<strong>

_Chapter IV - Saphira_

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><p>Eragon still could not believe it. He was a rider now. He looked at the palm of his right hand where his dragon had seemingly burned him upon touching his skin. Brom had called it the Gedwëy Ignasia, which translated into 'shining palm.' It was the mark of a rider and indicated its bond with his or her dragon, and every rider had it. He had noticed it before on his father's hand, but it did not really register that it had been caused by Sephyr himself. He had always thought that his father merely injured himself somehow and merely wanted to keep the scar there. As if as a reminder of something.<p>

Now that he had it and he understood its origins, he looked at it with a whole new wonder.

A squeak from somewhere in the room told him that his dragon was awake. He rolled over on his bed and watched as his dragon uncurled itself from where it had been laying and stretched out, opening its mouth as it yawned and baring a multitude of small sharp, pointy teeth. The dragon squeaked again and walked, or it looked more like it crawled, over to him. Its wings seemed to big for its body, but he knew that a dragon's wings were always large. Compared to its distant relative the lizard, his dragon was ten times bigger than one, if not even more so. It was roughly as long as his forearm

"You must be hungry," he said, and it squeaked again. Eragon felt its consciousness rub against his and feelings of hunger wafted through their mental link. He had discovered that apart from the Gedwëy Ignasia the bond between him and his dragon allowed them to communicate with their thoughts. Although he had known about it before, it was quite different actually experiencing it himself and at first he was cautious at the mental force that had engulfed him at first until he realized it was his dragon.

He got out of bed and, almost as if on cue, someone knocked on his door. He opened it and saw a man with a tray full of food. He bowed slightly, "Hail to you, young Rider! I bring you your breakfast as well as your dragon's. Master Brom requests your presence in the training hall once you are finished."

Eragon accepted the tray of food, thanking the man and then closed the door. He took the plate stacked with strips of meat cut to small portions and placed it on the ground. Taking the tray he then placed it on the desk in his room and sat down to eat. Once he finished it, he looked down and saw that his dragon had consumed the entire dish. It squeaked in delight and moved around the room. From the looks of it, it looked like it was exploring.

He was going to leave when his dragon squeaked twice and then walked over to him as he stood by the door. It squeaked again, looking up at him expectantly. Eragon could feel a growing curiosity emanating from across their link. His dragon wanted to explore what was out there, or at least he thought it did. Even though they could communicate with feelings and sometimes even images, it was tough to fully understand each other as this was a very basic form of communication.

"Oh what the heck," he said and he picked it up. He moved to cradle it again, but then it crawled up to his shoulder and he winced slightly as its claws dug into him, although they did not break the skin. Its tail wrapped around his back towards his other shoulder.

He made his way to the training hall, the dragon squeaking every now and then as its head swiveled around to look at everything they passed by.

-**xxx**-

The training hall was vast, built next to the Citadel but within the outer walls that protected it. It too was carved into the side of the mountain, with a row of tall, thick stone pillars on either side holding up the lofty ceiling. Sunlight wafted in through small chutes drilled through the mountain rock that went to the surface. No doubt there were enchantments in place to prevent water from seeping in and subsequently flooding the hall. Because there was sunlight, there were potted plants and even a small garden at the end of the hall. Along one wall were rows of weapons racks full of all sorts of weapons, ranging from staves to halberds, swords, spears, bows, and axes. A few shields were also propped up against some of the racks.

Brom was waiting for him there along with two elders, Oromis and Arven, a female elven rider. Oromis wore his usual plain white robes while Arven had on a simple green shirt and brown leggings. Her blonde hair was cut short, going only barely past her ears, and she had deep blue eyes. As with all elves, she was fair, but Eragon unconsciously compared her to Arya and found that the latter elf was still more beautiful.

They were talking quietly as he approached and stopped when he got to them.

"About time you woke up, Eragon," said Brom with a smile. "This is elder Oromis, who you have met before, and this is elder Arven."

Eragon bowed slightly and put two fingers to his lips and twisted his hand to his chest as he had seen his mother do before. "Atra esterní ono thelduin."

Arven and Oromis smiled and responded to the greeting, which Eragon finished by saying, "Un du evarínya ono varda."

"Well met, Eragon," said Arven, her voice smooth and soft but belying power.

Eragon's dragon squeaked from his shoulder, shifting its weight slightly as it peered around.

"You must begin thinking of names for your dragon," Brom spoke, "If you would like, I can give you a small book we have of all dragon names past and present as well as rider names, if you would like to name your dragon after a rider. I do suggest, however, that you wait until your dragon begins to speak to you so that you may converse with it on the matter."

Eragon nodded, feeling rather eager to have his dragon start talking already.

"Well, now to the reason why you are here. You must begin your training immediately. While your dragon is still too small to do much, you can get started. Remember that you must take care of your dragon and make sure it is fed properly," he continued, "Oromis has expressed his intent to train you, and so it is that he will be your master from now on until he releases you from training. Arven has volunteered to help in that endeavor when she can. You should be grateful, for you are being taught by two elders. In fact, Oromis was my master back in my earlier years as a rider."

Oromis inclined his head towards Brom, "And you were a most worthy apprentice, Brom. And you, Eragon, have much to live up to," said Oromis to Eragon, who gulped slightly.

Brom chuckled, "He'll make you proud yet, Oromis." He looked at his son with both affection and pride. He _knew _he would be a rider too! It only seemed right for it to happen. He was glad he had already trained him somewhat, though he had not shown any affinity with magic before he was sure that now that he was bonded he would be able to do magic easily enough.

_No pressure, right?_ Eragon thought, squirming slightly under their combined gazes.

"Oromis may be called away on official business from time to time, given his importance to the Dragon Riders, and so I will fill in when needed," Arven explained. He understood now why there were to be two of them. Usually a novice rider would be apprenticed to one senior or elder rider. He was lucky indeed to have not one but two elders as masters - although only one was of course his true master.

"Very well, if there is nothing else I would like to get started immediately," said Oromis as he looked at Brom and then Arven.

Brom gave Eragon a hug before he left, whispering in his ear, "Work hard, son. I know you'll make me proud." Arven bade him goodbye and wished him well in his studies before she too left.

Eragon's dragon squeaked again, its eyes glued on Oromis as it cocked its head to the side. Eragon raised his hand to pet it and it squeaked again.

"Very well. Let us begin with some basics. My name is Oromis, and from this day forth you shall call me master, or Oromis-elda, until I have finished training you. My dragon, Glaedr, will also be training you and your dragon once your dragon is big enough. He too, you shall call master, or Glaedr-elda. Do you understand?" asked Oromis, his tone and expression serious.

Eragon nodded, "Yes master."

"The training hall, as the name suggests, is where we will be conducting our training. We train here because it is away from any prying eyes and it is also devoid, or at least it should be, of any distractions," Oromis gestured around with his hand as he spoke.

"When will we be doing magic?" Eragon blurted out, unable to contain his excitement on learning about the subject.

Oromis shook his head, "When I say so. It will not be anytime soon, apprentice. There are other things to learn first before we tackle the subject of magic. Now you would do well to get thoughts of magic out of your head for now, it will only serve to distract you from your other tasks."

Eragon nodded a bit sullenly at that, "Yes, master."

"Let us talk as we walk. Follow me," the old elf said as he turned and began to move, Eragon following closely at his heels. "Now tell me what Brom has taught you about the Riders."

Eragon proceeded to tell him what he knew about them. The war between elves and dragons, then Eragon's namesake raising a dragon and eventually helping to create the bond between dragons and elves. The later inclusion of humans to that bond. He then talked about what he knew about dragons in particular and then what he knew about the bond and how that affected the riders. Then he talked about the purpose of the riders and their responsibility to Alagaësia. He continued on for a little while longer, but for the most part that was all he knew of the riders.

"Good, he has taught you most everything. I will augment your knowledge by speaking of some notable moments in Dragon Rider history. That said, we do not need to spend much time on history, though it would do well to remember the lessons learned by those who have gone before us," said Oromis. "Now how much of the ancient language are you familiar with?"

Again, Eragon told him about his studying the ancient language and of Brom's instructions. Asked to speak in the ancient language, Eragon began to speak slowly and Oromis corrected him here and there.

"Excellent. You are farther along on that than I expected, which is good. You shall continue studying the ancient language and I will provide you some more books on it. Now how are you with weapons?"

"Master, I am a good swordsman, according to my father, and I occasionally hunt with a bow and my archery has brought me much game," he replied with a hint of pride.

Oromis nodded, "We shall see soon enough. Now have you done any physical conditioning?"

Eragon frowned and looked confused, "How do you mean, master?"

They had walked through a few passageways by this point and entered into what Eragon could only assume was Oromis' office. There was a large, ornate wooden desk that dominated one end of the relatively big room. Bookshelves lined one entire wall and stood from floor to ceiling. There were seats in front of the desk, and Eragon sat down in one. His dragon had jumped off his shoulder and onto the armrest of the chair he was sitting on. It squeaked as it looked around the room.

"I mean, has he taught you any exercises to strengthen your muscles or any stretches to increase flexibility?"

Eragon shook his head, "No, master. The only exercise has been dueling with my father with weapons. Unless you can count the times I have gone out hunting, in which case I have gathered firewood, stalked prey, and run after prey as well as running away from any perceived dangers."

Oromis sighed, "I thought as much. Most people do not take care of their bodies enough, though I am surprised Brom did not teach you anything, particularly the Rimgar, which I made him do countless times and undoubtedly he still does. No matter, that is what your training is far after all.

"What is the Rimgar?" asked Eragon. The name sounded silly to him.

Oromis explained that it was also known as the 'Dance of Snake and Crane' and was a series of poses developed by the elves specifically to strengthen the bodies of warriors for battle. There were four distinct levels separated by the flexibility and strength required to do them.

Silence ensued for a moment. Seemingly deep in thought, the elder spoke, "Tea?"

Eragon declined the offer as Oromis began to ask him some more questions. Although Eragon was burning to ask questions himself, he did not give in to those urges as he usually did for fear of getting rebuked by the elf. A thought suddenly dawned on him that maybe Oromis knew Arya - he filed that away in his head as a question he would have to ask later on at a better time.

-**xxx**-

Eragon was on his way back to his room when he happened upon the other new dragon rider he had undergone the Ceremony with. He too had his dragon with him, cradling it in his hands. Eragon had done the same on the way back. He determined that the weight of his dragon on his shoulder was too uncomfortable for long periods.

They both stopped in the middle of the hallway and each were going in opposite directions. The other rider was taller than him by about an inch or so, and was a little more muscular. His gray eyes were guarded and his expression unreadable, though he seemed to have an air of coldness about him.

"Hello fellow rider," said Eragon, "I am Eragon Bromsson." He extended his hand.

At first the other young man did not take it, but then he finally reached out with his own hand and clasped Eragon's in a firm grip. Looking at Eragon straight in the eyes, he spoke, "I am Murtagh Morzansson." They let go of each other then.

"How is your new dragon?" asked Eragon suddenly, breaking the small silence that had ensued.

Murtagh smiled and looked down at his red dragon, which was eyeing Eragon's blue dragon with curiosity. Neither dragon made a sound or moved, merely watching each other in their riders' respective arms. "My dragon is well... and yours?"

"The same. I only wish they could speak already."

Murtagh's smile grew a little at that statement, "I feel the same way." His smile faded and his face resumed to show no emotion.

There was another awkward silence, this time broken by Murtagh. "Well, I must leave now, my father is expecting me."

Eragon nodded, "It was good to meet you, Murtagh."

"And you, Eragon," replied Murtagh and then he continued to walk past Eragon.

-**xxx**-

A week went by, with Eragon mostly studying books and being taught by Oromis on the finer historical moments of the riders. He was also taught the first level of the Rimgar, which proved to be far more difficult than he had originally thought it would be. He had a new-found respect for the athleticism of the elves, even though they were augmented by the magic of the dragon bonding. He was getting even better at the ancient language, learning even more words from the many tomes and books that Oromis gave him.

His dragon had grown considerably quickly in the span of a week, doubling it's size so that it was a little higher than his knee in height and already nearly as long as he was tall. It was easier to communicate with it now too as its feelings were easier to understand and it was able to send him better images representing its thoughts. He wondered when it would start talking and hoped that it would be soon, for besides his interactions with Oromis he spoke to no one else. There were riders that came and went, and occasionally one would chat with him for a little while, but for the most part he was alone in his studies.

Even Murtagh he had only seen one more time, and at a distance so he was unable to speak to him. Eragon wondered how his training was going, and he was sure that their training schedules did not coincide with each other's in order for there to be, as Oromis had said, "no distractions" while they were in the beginning phases of their learning.

Due to his lack of opportunities to talk to anyone, he had begun to talk more and more to his dragon. Even though most of the time the dragon could not comment or respond, Eragon poured out everything he was thinking and feeling. He would talk about things he was learning in his studies too, sometimes he would talk about legends and stories he had heard. And then there was Arya. Always his mind turned to her one way or another during the day, and though he tried not to, he could not help himself. She had left an unforgettable impression in his mind. He speculated whether they would meet again and what she was doing.

A few days later, Oromis told him to take his dragon out with him and explore the island a little bit. He also told him to try and get his dragon to hunt; even though there was more than enough food at Doru Araeba since it was the home city of the riders after all, Oromis had told him that dragons should learn how to hunt.

It was a particularly nice day, with a few thin clouds high up in the sky and the sun shining brightly. Eragon walked out of the Citadel, dragon in tow slightly behind him and to his right. It looked around in what Eragon thought was perhaps wonder as they wound their way through the city and towards one of the outer gates. There were six guards stationed there, all of whom Eragon realized were elves. They let him through, however, without so much as asking him what he was up to and Eragon thought that perhaps they had been told beforehand of his departure into the forest surrounding the city. Or perhaps they did not deem it necessary to ask a rider what he was doing. They were, after all, more interested in keeping things out of the city than keeping things in.

After walking past the walls for about ten minutes, Eragon and his dragon moved off the dirt path that led away from the city and plunged into the forest. Thankfully, there was not much undergrowth as the forest consisted more of trees, flowers, and small shrubs and bushes. His dragon seemed apprehensive about entering such an alien place, for it had only seen mostly stone walls and buildings for most of its short life thus far.

Eragon turned to his dragon and impressed upon it thoughts and images of hunting and having to fend for one's own. His dragon looked up at him, large eyes scanning his face as it cocked its head to the side. He tried again, and this time he received what he thought was acknowledgement of his message. Without hesitation his dragon suddenly stiffened, seemingly on the alert, then it bounded forward and around trees. Eragon wondered where it was going and cried out to it, starting to run, but then he remembered what Oromis had told him.

"You must let your dragon hunt, and preferably on its own. There are no dangerous creatures on the island that would harm a dragon, but there are plentiful game here and it would be wise to let your dragon learn not only to hunt but to survive in the wild. However tame the wild of Vroengard might be," the elder had said.

_Now what am I supposed to do?_ _Wait? _thought Eragon and, finding a rather large boulder he decided to sit on it and indeed wait for his dragon.

He regretted not bringing a book to read, and then decided to try and recall the names of things around him in the ancient language. After about thirty minutes, his dragon returned. Its thoughts spilled over through their connection and it was mostly excitement and joy as well as pride. He saw, as it approached, that it had two rabbits in its mouth all bloodied up.

Eragon smiled, congratulating her with his mind. The dragon put the two rabbits down in front of the boulder and lay down as it began to munch on them. The sight was unsettling to Eragon so he averted his gaze.

_Well, at least my dragon knows how to hunt now,_ he thought and smiled.

-**xxx**-

The next day, Eragon was practicing the first level of Rimgar in his room when he felt the consciousness of his dragon brush his mind. He wondered what it wanted as he got out of a pose, his skin drenched with sweat and his breathing somewhat ragged. He turned and looked at his dragon, its blue eyes locked onto his as it stood on its legs. It was extremely still.

_Eragon_.

The young rider's eyes opened wide. He felt surprised at first, and then he was filled with jubilation. A smile crept onto his face.

"You can speak!" he exclaimed excitedly.

_Eragon._

He concentrated, letting his consciousness move out from the safe confines of his mind. He felt suddenly vulnerable as he reached out with his consciousness and felt the vastness of the world around his mind.

Yes,_ that's my name,_ he thought back to it.

_Eragon. Name..?_ it thought.

Eragon finally understood. He was sure that his dragon was, like anyone speaking a new language, having a little trouble understanding and articulating but he knew that would come with time - given his experience with Sephyr and of course what he had learned already. He also then understood that it wanted a name, and it was indeed about time for him to give his dragon a name. He had been so caught up in studying and improving himself he had neglected to think of any names to call his dragon.

_Let's find you a name_.

He went over to the bookshelf in his room and began to search for the small book of names that Oromis had given him. A few minutes of going through the titles elicited the book and he plopped onto his bed and opened it. His dragon sidled closer to the bed as he began to read names off of the lists in the book. There were many names, perhaps too many, and he hoped he wouldn't have to go through them all. After about an hour of saying a name then looking towards his dragon, there would be no response although he sensed feelings of rejection through their link.

"This is ridiculous, there are still a few hundred names left." He was beginning to feel tired and his throat was dry. Then it dawned on him that he did not know what gender his dragon was.

_Perhaps..._ he thought, looking hopefully at his dragon. Through their connection he asked, _Are you... a male?_

The dragon seemed amused by the question.

_No,_ came the reply.

So his dragon was a female! Many of the names he had read were male names, he realized then, and decided to search specifically for any female names he came across. Still, there was no affirmation from his dragon and so he continued on. Perhaps it was another hour later that Eragon turned the final page of the book. His throat hurt from all the talking, but he did not really like the sensation of mentally talking to his dragon, at least he was not used to it yet and did not want to get too overwhelmed by the feeling.

He tried to think of names on his own, and his thoughts kept going to his father's dragon, Sephyr.

He spoke slowly, "My father... his dragon's name is... Sepyhr. I was thinking that... maybe you can be named... Saphira?"

There it was. A spark of happiness in his dragon's eyes and feelings of warmth and acceptance flowed through their bond. The name was especially fitting for her scales were the color of sapphires.

_Saphira_, his dragon said as if testing the name out for herself. A short moment later and she gave one small nod at that and Eragon broke out into a smile again.

His dragon could finally talk, and she now had a name. He was excited to tell not only his father about it but Sephyr as well. _And Oromis, of course_, he thought as he realized it would be best to tell his master about it. He reached over and pet Saphira, his hands running over her scales. She growled softly, which Eragon took to be like a cat's purr.

Saphira.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Appreciate the reviews again. On another note, we will be learning a little more about Murtagh in the next section. Things will start to pick up soon enough! I hope you're ready.

For those of you who don't remember the elven greeting, just in case, here's what it translates to:

first - Atra esterní ono thelduin. = "May good fortune rule over you."

response - Mor'ranr lífa unin hjarta onr. = "Peace live in your heart."

end - Un du evarínya ono varda. = "And the stars watch over you."


	6. Murtagh and Thorn

_**DISCLAIMER: **_The Inheritance Cycle is not owned by me. Christopher Paolini owns that universe which he created.

* * *

><p><strong>Edge of Oblivion<strong>

_Chapter V - Murtagh and Thorn_

* * *

><p>Murtagh winced slightly on the inside as his father yelled at him, his words biting and strong. Although he had long ago learned to hide his reactions from his father and to remain impassive, a small part of him still felt hurt. Before, it had been sharp pains within him, but now it was beginning to turn into a dull ache. This time, similar to many times before his father was mad at him for something trivial. The young rider surmised that something had upset his father earlier in the day and unfortunately for him he was the recipient of his father's venting.<p>

Morzan continued to rage for a few more minutes before abruptly stopping, as if finally spent. He told Murtagh to go to his room, and not one to squander such an opportunity to leave his father's presence he complied immediately, leaving the older rider to his thoughts. That small part of Murtagh that still ached when his father treated him wrongly also wanted him to ask what was bothering his father, but he dared not do such a thing. It would most probably lead to another bout of raging and facing his father's wrath twice in one day was too much, however much he had become desensitized to it.

Thankfully, he had not hit him this time as he had started to do recently. Whatever it was that was bothering him, it was very much troubling his father. He wondered what it was that made him so angry.

Closing and locking the door to his room, he sprawled across his bed. He felt exhausted like he had run many leagues, and succumbing to his tiredness he drifted off into sleep.

Light poured in through his window and hit him squarely in the face. He stirred, annoyed slightly as he moved away from the light. He groaned and then stretched in his bed, feeling refreshed from a good night's rest.

_Good morning, Murtagh, _said his dragon, Thorn.

Groggily, Murtagh said, _Good morning to you, Thorn. Where are you?_

_On the roof, outside your window._

With a grunt, Murtagh finally got himself out of bed and trudged over to the window. His eyes having adjusted to the light he walked over and opened the window and sure enough there was perched Thorn, his claws securing him in place on the shingles of the roof. His red scales shimmered in the sunlight and it looked like many small fires flickering in the wind. Large red eyes watched him closely. All around them, the sounds of the city echoed across the stone streets and bounced off the walls of the houses. Doru Araeba may not have been fully occupied, but it was still a busy city nonetheless what with all the work the riders did.

_Your father wrongs you so_, Thorn stated simply.

Murtagh smiled sadly, _I am used to it. Ever since mother died, he has been like this. I have toughened myself to his wrath, as he would have wanted me to be. You know all my father respects is strength_.

He felt Thorn grunt through their link and let loose a tinge of anger, _Then we shall teach him to respect you once we are strong enough_.

Murtagh did not know how he felt about that, though he nodded in any case. His father, Morzan, was a strong rider and his dragon was a vicious beast whose personality matched with his father's rather well. His name was Paine, and he too interestingly enough was a red dragon - though in his opinion Paine's red scales were duller compared to Thorn's.

_That is still a long time off_, he finally said, _My father, and especially his dragon, are not to be trifled with. They are very powerful._

_And so shall we be_, said Thorn though he conceded to Murtagh that they were nowhere near strong enough to do as he had said they would.

Three weeks had passed since Thorn had hatched for him, and already the dragon was above his belly and only a fraction below chest level in height. His growth had been explosive, and Murtagh was sure he had more than doubled his weight already. His stomach grumbled and a pang of hunger passed over him. Telling Thorn he would see him later, Murtagh walked downstairs to get a meal. Thankfully, his father was already gone. Out doing whatever it was that he did during the day.

Satisfying himself with a good meal that one of his father's servants had made, he walked out to the small courtyard behind their house. There, Thorn lay on the ground basking in the warmth of the sun. The courtyard was walled off - high stone walls twice Murtagh's height. Vines grew across the face of the walls, twisting here and there. If one did not look closely at it, it would have seemed as if the walls had green cracks on them. Thorn watched him lazily with one eye as he grabbed one of the wooden swords that were hung on a weapon rack outside, covered by wooden planks jutting out from the house to protect it from the elements.

His fingers wrapped around the hilt of the wooden sword, his grip strong and relaxed at the same time. He slowly began to move, weaving this way and that as he swung the sword with practiced ease. If there was one thing his father did right, it was that he had Murtagh trained to be strong. He was an excellent swordsman, trained by a servant of his father's named Tornac. He was beyond middle-age but still young enough to wield a sword expertly. Even now, Tornac could still best him though it took longer and Murtagh was able to hit him back almost as many times as he himself was hit.

About half an hour passed in this way, with Murtagh working up a sweat as the sun beat down upon him. Finally, he lowered the sword and stood motionless in the middle of the courtyard. Closing his eyes, he felt the light touch of a breeze cool his hot, sweaty skin. His chest rose and fell quickly as he breathing rate had increased due to his practicing and it began to slow as he started to relax. His mind, for once, thought of nothing else and was simply blank. It was a great feeling, one that he prided himself in being able to do because it allowed him to not only be calm but to forget all his troubles. At least for a moment.

He was interrupted by the door opening, and he turned to see who it was.

"Taking a little bit of a nap, eh?" said Tornac with a grin, "I had a feeling you were slacking off."

Murtagh's mouth turned into a grin himself as he eyed the old swordsman. He was taller than Murtagh by about two inches, with a bald head and a hardened face. A rough gray beard made it seem as if all his hair had inverted from the top of his head to the bottom, but it also made him look all the more intimidating. He held a wooden sword in his right hand, and Murtagh knew what was coming next.

Readying himself, he parried Tornac's sword as the man suddenly sprang into an attack. His speed and strength were better than most men his age, and Murtagh worked hard to keep him at bay. They paused for a moment, circling each other as they each gauged the other. Then it was Murtagh's turn to strike, swinging his sword in different angles and weaving this way and that. The courtyard echoed with the sound of wood clacking together. In his attack, Murtagh had managed to push Tornac backward, but then the older swordsman held his ground and then began to advance as he moved into a complicated series of attacks.

This time Murtagh gave ground to the ensuing onslaught. He managed to catch the edge of Tornac's sword on the guard of his hilt and, seeing an opportunity, he slid along the side of it and managed to land a blow on Tornac - it would have killed him had they been using real swords, for it was across his chest. A look of surprise flashed onto Tornac's face, but then it disappeared and it was replaced by a proud smile as he stepped back. No words were spoken, and Murtagh was tensed ready to fight again. Sure enough, Tornac came at him again and they fought blow for blow, countering and blocking each other.

Thorn watched them with both eyes, his head up as he became interested in the two humans fighting before him. His rider was doing very well, and he was pleased by that. He was strong.

Murtagh grimaced slightly as he felt wood rap at his leg, above the knee, and he stepped back with sword held up ready to block. He shook his right leg a bit to get the stinging sensation out, and it turned into a dull ache as his adrenaline overrode the pain. He was panting as sweat began to drop into his eyes, but he did not move to wipe it away lest he be caught off-guard and unable to move properly. They circled each other once more, and Murtagh tried to slow his breathing - one of the things Tornac had told him was that most soldiers tired themselves out by breathing too hard too quickly. Controlled breathing was one of the things that separated a good swordsman from a dead one.

Tornac's breathing was steady, though a little faster than it had been earlier. He too began to sweat profusely, the heat of the sun beating down on them both. The small breeze that had blown earlier had all but gone, leaving nothing but the stillness of the air and the warmth of the sun's rays. Murtagh rolled his shoulders around because they started to feel a bit tight. And almost as if that was the cue he was waiting for, Tornac sprung with sword arcing through the air.

Murtagh reacted just as swiftly, blocking the attack and the next few that followed after it. Then he shifted his weight and leaned to the side as the wooden sword thrust where his head was. He brought his own up and knocked Tornac's sword away from him. The older swordsman continued attacking, unrelenting, and Murtagh struggled as Tornac's attacks flowed one to the other. He was showing every bit of his skill, and Murtagh kept him at bay only thanks to his advantage of strength and speed of his youth.

One of Tornac's attacks had his sword slice downward through the air and Murtagh was too late to block it, so on instinct he threw himself to the right. Rolling on the ground across his shoulders and then back onto his feet. The wooden sword barely missed him. Tornac nodded at that move, and before he could launch into another attack Murtagh beat him to it and moved into a combination of moves. Determination crept into Murtagh then as he felt the older man began to slow a fraction. His attacks increased in speed and strength, and he ignored the aching of his muscles from the strain.

He finally managed to knock Tornac's sword out of his grasp and swiftly moved the tip of the wooden sword to the old swordsman's neck. They both were breathing heavier than earlier, drenched in sweat. Tornac smiled then as Murtagh lowered his sword, realizing that for once he had finally beaten Tornac. Truly beaten him. He was both surprised and elated by what had transpired.

"Well done, Murtagh. Well done," said Tornac, his voice laced with pride. The young rider had finally bested him for the first time in the two years he had been training him. "You have improved considerably, and are now beyond my teachings. We shall, however, continue to spar for that is what your father asks of me - of both of us - but I have nothing more to teach you. You are a natural with the blade."

Murtagh smiled back, feeling the aches of his body. "I had a great master teach me."

Tornac stepped closer and placed a large hand on his shoulder, squeezing it. "You honor me. I am proud of how far you have come, but there is always room for improvement. Remember that."

Murtagh nodded.

"Well, I think I'll take a bit of a rest before I resume my other duties. I am not as young as I used to be," he said, laughing. He turned to Thorn and bowed his head slightly, saying nothing, and with one last look at Murtagh he went back inside.

Thorn growled, _You did well, my rider. Your skill with the stick is impressive._

Murtagh thanked him for his praise, _I have worked many hours to get where I am. I must be stronger still, my father demands it... and I demand it of myself._ He added the last part as a slow realization crept up on him. Always his father had an absolute hold over him. As his father and as a powerful rider, Murtagh could do nothing else but obey without question. For the most part, fear drove his actions - fear of the anger of his father and fear of what he would do to punish him should he so choose. For against a rider how could he hope to fight back? No matter how much he had wanted to that thought had always stayed any acts of rebellion on his part.

Yet now... now that he was a rider himself, he realized that his father's grip on him was loosening. The stronger he got, and the stronger Thorn got, the more likely it would be that he would finally win the freedom from his father that he so coveted. He had always relished those moments when his father left for long periods on rider business. During those times he felt as if he were free to do what he wanted, as opposed to what his father wanted. Turning to Thorn he walked over to his dragon and kneeled down on the ground before him.

He placed the wooden sword on the ground and grabbed Thorn gently with both hands, pulling him into a hug.

_You and I, Thorn. We are together now, forever bound. And I swear to you, one day when we are strong enough we will escape my father and live freely for once_, he told the red dragon.

A low rumble came from Thorn's chest and a feeling of agreement wafted through their mental link. _So it shall come to pass_.

After a moment, Murtagh let him go as a lone tear loosed itself from his eye and rolled down his cheek. Wiping it away, he spoke out loud, "Have I told you how much I appreciate that you hatched for me?"

_Yes, many times_. Thorn looked at him with amusement.

-**xxx**-

Morzan scowled, slamming his fist on the table. That elicited a loud bang and the shaking of the plates, cups, and utensils that had been lying on the table. He looked at his son with disappointment in his eyes. How could his son be so weak? How could this be his child? He ran a hand through his long black hair, frustrated. He had given his son books on magic to read and he knew that his grasp of the ancient language was good, and yet he struggled with the simplest of spells. What little patience he had always broke whenever he trained his son, and yet he had to. For he had to be strong. He did not understand how dangerous the world outside was, even for a rider.

_Especially for a rider_, he thought.

He hoped his son would one day appreciate how he had made him strong, so that none may break him once he was out in the world. And he would need him in the future, for together they would ride as father and son in battle against all those who would dare oppose them. He struggled to contain his anger, which always dwelt close to the surface of his personality. He looked at his son, and for a moment a feeling of remorse filled him as he realized the stone, guarded gaze that stared back at him unflinchingly. Murtagh's entire body was stiff.

But then he shook it off. No. He must be strong. This is how it has been between them and this is how it shall be. He will understand soon enough once he leaves the bubble of life that he has lived in here in Doru Araeba. Morzan planned to take him out into the greater Alagaësia once his son's dragon, Thorn, was strong enough to fly with Murtagh on his back. He would show him the world he would soon preside over as a rider.

His thoughts shifted to the order, to the Dragon Riders. Lately, due to the great peace that has existed for many years now there was little need for the riders. Many of the riders had become scholars, losing their battle edge in Morzan's opinion. Then there was that blasted Shade that they did not deal with swiftly. He did not know why it was that they hesitated. The argument that the Shade would go into hiding was false in Morzan's mind. The combined might of the riders would root him out from the very roots of Alagaësia should they but will it, and yet no.

While a Shade roamed freely in Alagaësia they, the riders who were supposed to defend the land from such dangers, did nothing but wait. Wait? For death and destruction? He could not believe how soft the riders had become, and he was angry at the leadership of Vrael. The fool elf had lived too long, and in his ancientness he had become too soft in his dealings. Morzan imagined it was because fear gripped him - fear of another war and more violence. But how are you supposed to dispose of a violent danger without violence?

His train of thought shifted then to the elves in general. He despised them. Despised their dominance over Alagaësia from their secret woods. Despised their dominance over the riders. Humans were not given enough respect as they deserved. It was human lands that the Shade tread on, humans who he slaughtered or enslaved. Human towns he would burn and lands he would destroy. Perhaps that was why the elves stayed their hands. Perhaps that was why they chose to wait, for it was not them and their stupid forest that were in danger.

He was careful not to publicly voice his opinion, even to his trusted friends among the riders - all of whom were human of course. There were still those who did not understand what the elves were doing and how poorly they regarded the human race. If he had his way, Morzan would make them respect humanity. They needed to be taught a lesson. But he had not the strength to accomplish such a feat, so he maintained to keep his thoughts private. He needed to get stronger.

"Again," he finally said to his son, who had not moved at all.

Murtagh looked down at the small stone that his father had placed earlier on the table. He was supposed to break it. He knew the correct word in the ancient language, but when he spoke it nothing happened. No matter how hard he concentrated his will upon the stone, it did not break. Nor did he feel the tell-tale sign of magic being used, which his father said was feeling the energy of the spell leave you. Nothing. He could not tap into the magic that his father said was there within him.

_Perhaps, _Murtagh thought_, if I had a better teacher I would be able to use magic._ His father had told the riders that he would personally train his son. Usually, new riders were trained by other senior or elder riders, but they would not go against his father's wishes - and they all thought he was qualified enough to teach him anyways since he was himself a senior rider, and a very strong one at that. Still, Murtagh wished he had a different master to train him. Having his father as his teacher made him despise the man even more because he felt wronged. He felt wronged in that he knew deep down his father was not a good teacher and his training and education would be haphazard and incomplete.

Still, he could do nothing but obey. What other choice was there?

Again, his father was displeased.

"Jierda!" his father yelled angrily, pointing at the rock as he stood. His chair fell backwards as he did so, and the stone shattered into many pieces. "Do you not see? It is so simple!" his father said, exasperated. Shaking his head he righted the chair but did not sit. As a rider his son should have been able to access his magic, and yet he could not. He wondered if there was perhaps something wrong with his son, but he did not want to think on that matter. Murtagh was his son, and he would be strong. Maybe he is just not ready yet.

He glared at his son and told him to leave. "Enough for today. I want you to practice that until you master it. Now go!"

Murtagh left in silence. He realized then that he had never actually seen his father use magic. He knew that Morzan could, of course, but never had he had the opportunity to see his father actually cast a spell and use magic. Seeing his father shatter the stone with ease made him shiver involuntarily, and though he dared not show it there was a hint of fear in him. While his skill with a sword was excellent, and he fancied himself skilled enough to fight his father in a duel, his father's grasp of magic was far superior. And it was that edge, not to mention the size of Paine his dragon that reminded him of why he was still there and not many leagues away.

He had thought of running away before, and it was merely fantasy before Thorn hatched for him. Now that he had a dragon, his mind toyed with the idea. Still, they were not strong enough to survive on their own, not to mention if his father decided to hunt him down. _And he would_, he thought. Again he felt that twinge of fear within him, which he quickly quelled. He had to be strong.

Returning to his room, he sat down on the chair by his desk and propped his elbows onto its wooden surface. He rested his forehead in his hands. How could he not use magic? He was a rider! There had to be something he was doing wrong. As much as his father was a bad teacher, he did think that such a simple spell as _Jierda_, or "break" should have been easy to cast. He had to be forgetting something or not doing something right. There was more to it than merely his inability to wield magic, because he _should _be able to.

He decided he would sneak into his father's study later and find more books on the subject of magic. Perhaps in one of them he would find that missing something that would let him finally access magic.

_Do not worry, Murtagh my rider. You will figure it out_, Thorn's consciousness touched his in reassurance.

_I hope so_. Murtagh sighed. He too was frustrated by his inability to perform magic earlier, more so than his father - and his father had been extremely frustrated. He had hoped he would grasp magic just as easily as he had swordsmanship. But he realized then that it would be a far more difficult task.

He asked Thorn if he knew anything about it, being a dragon after all and imbued with powerful magic.

Thorn sent a mental shrug to him, _I do not. I can no more cast a spell as you can fly... I know that when dragon uses magic it is because of an instinct that wells up within them. We are guided... by something else other than ourselves when we use magic. It is difficult... to explain... _

When Murtagh went to sleep that night, his mind was filled with doubt and frustration.

-**xxx**-

Murtagh spent the next two days practicing breaking stones outside, and he still showed no progress. He continued to feel as if he were missing something vital to the process. He was not sure, and reading the few books in his father's study pertaining to magic yielded little. They were advanced books and said nothing of the simple process of using magic to cast spells. Frustration would be an understatement to how he was feeling. He even began to think that he might be better off asking another rider for help in that matter, but he knew that if he did so that his father's teachings would be called into question.

And Morzan would not be happy about that. He shuddered to think what his father would do if the other riders found out he was not adequately teaching his son.

_Be calm, young one. Your thoughts are harsh_, said Thorn with concern.

He over to his dragon from where he sat in the courtyard. Dark clouds hung overheard as a storm rolled in from the sea. The wind blew strongly, bringing with it a taste of salt in the air. Thunder boomed as lightning flashed across the sky. It would rain at any moment, but Murtagh remained sitting. A small stone a little smaller than his fist lay on the ground before him, unmoving and it seemed almost to taunt him.

He frowned, feeling anger welling inside of him, the frustration eating him up inside.

Small drops of rain began to drizzle down. They landed on him, cold little droplets that he ignored as his mind was bent on accessing this magic within him. He would not fail. He could not.

Again he tried, and again nothing happened. He let loose a wild yell of frustration, tightening his fists. Thorn raised his head, eyeing his rider warily and with concern.

_Murtagh- _started Thorn, but Murtagh looked at him and shook his head.

_NO! Quiet, Thorn. I WILL do this_, he told him.

Thorn said nothing, though he was somewhat hurt by the sudden lashing out of his rider. He observed as Murtagh continued to try to break the stone.

The rain fell heavier, and Murtagh was drenched. Still he paid no heed to the chill that crept over him and the feeling of wetness that covered him. His frustration was so great he could feel his mind swirling. Lightning arced through the sky, and a booming thunder momentarily distracted him. He looked up and closed his eyes, letting the rain engulf him. He searched his mind, searched within himself for whatever it was that seemed to be missing. Then, suddenly, he felt it. A force deep within his mind. It brimmed with energy, and he tried to tap into it but there was a resistance around it.

Determined, he pushed against it harder and harder, bringing the force of his mind onto the barrier that kept him from this strange energy source. A moment later and finally he broke through, and he felt the energy course through him. He faintly registered that his Gedwëy Ignasia began to glow. Inspiration filled him then, and he focused on the stone that was obscured by the pouring rain. Water filled his eyes, but he ignored it as he finally said, "Jierda!"

He was at first not sure if he had heard the stone crack, for he thought perhaps it might have been lightning. He felt energy leave him and a slight tiredness in his muscles. He leaned it closer, squinting his eyes and wiping away the water with his wet forearm. A slow smile formed on his lips. The stone was broken into several pieces.

He turned to Thorn, who was a dull red in the dark rain. He had succeeded.

_I can use magic!_ he said excitedly, _I am not a failure!_

Thorn touched his forehead with his snout, _You are my rider, of course you are not a failure_.

Murtagh laughed, the first laugh he had in days. He quickly apologized for snapping at Thorn earlier_._

_Thorn, today we take one step closer to our freedom. Once I am strong enough with magic, we shall leave this place... and the clutches of my father_. Murtagh closed his eyes then and felt the rain wash over him. He shivered from the cold.

Thorn leaned back and raised his head, letting loose a loud roar.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **And there's a bit about Murtagh, hope you like it. Murtagh is not related to Eragon in this fic, they have different mothers. Also, Brom and Morzan's relationship will be explored in future chapters. Be patient! I expect this to be a long story, with many chapters and words yet to come. I will have more time once the holidays come along, and so there will be more updates and longer chapters ahead.


	7. Brom's Mistake

_**DISCLAIMER: **_The Inheritance Cycle is not owned by me. Christopher Paolini owns that universe which he created.

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><p><strong>Edge of Oblivion<strong>

_Chapter VI - Brom's Mistake_

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><p>Morzan stormed out of the Citadel, fuming. One of the riders patrolling the Empire happened upon a town that had been ransacked, the people slaughtered with impunity. All signs pointed to the work of the Shade, Durza. He had implored Vrael and the elders to act, but again they said it was not yet the right time. He had let loose a little of his frustration, but caught himself and carefully restrained the full force of the rage he felt. Thankfully, they said they understood his concerns and thought nothing much of his burst of anger at them.<p>

He was halfway back to his home in the city, engaged in his thoughts, when a voice called out to him. Turning around he saw Brom walking with swift, purposeful strides towards him.

"Morzan," he said again, in greeting this time as he stopped about arm's length away.

Morzan wondered what it is that Brom wanted. "Brom."

"I would speak with you," said Brom, his eyes darting around them, "In private, if you please." The street they were on was not too busy, but still there were a few men and elves present.

Nodding his acquiescence, Morzan followed him as Brom had turned and began to walk. He led Morzan through some side roads and alleys and then, looking around once more he fished out a set of keys from a pocket and unlocked a door to a small building tucked away from the main streets. He beckoned Morzan to follow, and he did though somewhat apprehensively. His hand was always close to his red sword, Zar'roc, and his eyes were searching. He and Brom had both been trained by Oromis, though Morzan was the older of the two.

Brom had always looked up to him and they had been friends, close once. But ever since that fateful night... he wrestled that thought away. He did not want to think about it.

Finally, lighting some torches to provide more light Brom turned and looked squarely at Morzan. Unwavering, he returned the look and they stood there across the room they had entered with neither saying a word. Had anyone been watching, it would seem as if they were fighting each other mentally but in reality they were merely observing one another. Finally, Morzan shifted and spoke, "Why did you bring me here, Brom?" His tone was neutral, his face expressionless.

Brom looked away and said, "I have news of where the Shade may be."

Stunned silence followed the statement. Morzan narrowed his eyes, processing what was said. He wondered if it was a trap of some kind to see if he would defy the orders of the elders, but decided that Brom would not do such a thing. They were close once after all. He was wary of the statement however. What was Brom playing at?

"Is it reliable?"

Brom nodded, "My source is most reliable. The only question is whether the Shade will still be there by the time we get to him."

Morzan was taken aback. Brom wished to hunt the Shade as well? As he thought about it more it began to make sense to him. He wondered if Brom thought the same as he did about the elven riders, but decided not to ask. He would let Brom tell him what he thought when the time came. Asking such questions was too much of a risk, especially since he did not know how Brom felt or thought having avoided him for many years. He did, however, give him a questioning look.

"Why..?"

"Because..." and Brom hesitated, his breath seemingly catching in his throat, "Because I have failed you before, Morzan. And I wish to amend for that mistake... and I want you to forgive me."

Morzan wanted to accept his help and chase after the Shade immediately. Any moment of delay risked losing the Shade into the wilderness once more. But he was reluctant to so willingly trust Brom again, not after what he did. Even though he came now with such news and he spoke his intentions, Morzan was a suspicious man and his trust was not to be gained so easily especially from one who had betrayed him before. He gave a curt nod, his lips pursed into a thin line as he looked at Brom. He could see that he was having difficulty restraining his emotion, a weakness in Morzan's eyes, but he did not comment on it.

"Perhaps," he spoke, the normal edge in his voice gone as he softened slightly. "What now?"

"Now we get ready. The elders will not like this, but once we return after killing Durza it will not matter." Brom rubbed his hands together.

They agreed to meet before dawn the next day.

-**xxx**-

A faint light began to reach out from the edge of the earth when Brom and Morzan met up at the east gate of the city. The guards allowed them through without question and they walked for ten minutes down the path then off into the woods. Emerging into a clearing they called to their respective dragons. They waited in silence as their surroundings slowly began to get brighter.

The heavy thudding of wings resounded across the forest as the two dragons arrived at roughly the same time from opposite directions. Paine landed with a heavy thud while Sephyr did so with a gentler touchdown. Quickly, they got onto their dragons and strapped themselves in. Once finished, Brom looked over at Morzan with a twinkling of excitement in his eyes. He squeezed his legs as Sephyr launched himself into the air, closely followed by the slightly larger Paine. It had been a long time since they had last ridden together, and Brom felt a bit nostalgic as he thought back to those days when they were close.

They flew for hours, and the sun was already past midday when they finally flew towards the mountains of the Spine. It was nearing sundown when they finally were over those mountains. Finding a spot to rest high up on one of the mountains, Brom shared with Sephyr the image of where he wanted him to land. The blue dragon angled towards the flat outcropping that jutted out from the side of one of the mountains. The outcropping was large enough for the two dragons and their riders to rest for the night, and it was safe being so high up the mountain.

Brom set about starting a fire as soon as they landed, gathering some dead wood nearby. Morzan watched in silence. Once they had a big fire going, they ate from the food they packed. Neither one of them had said a word this whole time. A strange and awkward silence continued. Brom wanted to say something, but could not think of anything. He was stuck thinking of the past, of what had happened that had driven them so far apart. They were practically brothers once before, and now they were more strangers than anything else.

It was tough being so close again. Their last mission had ended in disaster and heartache. He closed his eyes and tried to ward off thoughts of that night, but found that he could not. He relived the moment in his head, and he shuddered. They had barely escaped with their lives that night. He opened his eyes and looked at Morzan, who stared intently at the fire. He wondered if Morzan was also thinking of the past, or of that night in particular. He had never forgiven Brom for what he did, and no matter how much Brom justified his actions his rift with Morzan caused him to question what he did. So much so that he now regretted it, one of the few things he had ever regretted in his life.

_What troubles you? _Sephyr managed to poke into his clouded mind, and Brom became aware of the fact that his mental barriers were up in full force. It was only because of their link that Sephyr, with great effort, managed to get through to him. And though the dragon could guess what ate at his rider's mind, he had to ask to make sure.

_Sephyr_... began Brom, _He hasn't spoken to me in years, and the only times I have seen him have been during the rider meetings. He has never forgiven me... and I have never forgiven myself because of it,_ he paused and looked down at the dirt before him. _Sometimes I wish I could go back and fix my mistakes, _said Brom, his eyes moving up to look at Sephyr's blue ones.

_That was a terrible night_, replied Sephyr and sadness poured across their link as he too thought of that night. _But it was not your fault. Accidents happen, and this was one. An accident. You did not mean to do what you did... Besides, you were exhausted from fighting after all. __You must learn to let this go, Brom_.

He shook his head the tiniest fraction so as not to attract Morzan's attention but enough for Sephyr to see. _No, Sephyr, I cannot let this go until I am forgiven. I must repair the damage I have __wrought_.

A rumbling came from Sephyr's chest. _So be it, but I tell you this: I fear that Morzan has hardened his heart beyond repair. You only chase a phantom of what Morzan was before she died._

_He is here, is he not?_ asked Brom, turning to look at Morzan. The other rider had turned to his side to sleep, his red dragon keeping a watchful eye over him and occasionally looking at Brom and Sephyr with cautious glances.

Sephyr lowered his head and rested it on the ground, one of his large blue eyes still facing Brom. _Aye, he is here. But only because of that Shade. You know he would do anything in his quest to hunt him._

Brom could not deny that, but said nothing as he too finally turned onto his side. Unlike Morzan, he turned to face the fire as thoughts of that night filled his head and he drifted off into the dark embrace of sleep.

-**xxx**-

_Brom laughed as Sephyr did a barrel roll, tucked in his wings, and then dove straight down. The wind rushed through his hair and whipped past his face. He had to squint, and even then his eyes had watered slightly from the speed of their descent. Then, a few hundred feet before reaching the ground, Sephyr unfurled his wings and beat furiously, catching the wind and breaking their fall. The move jarred Brom somewhat, but he whooped all the louder in excitement. The thrill of flying was still something he was getting used to, even after several years now with Sephyr._

_He rubbed the blue scales of his bond-partner as they traveled higher into the sky. Above them, flying on red-scales Paine was Morzan. His shoulder-length black hair waving in the wind. He raised a hand in greeting, a wide smile on his face as Sephyr leveled off at the same height as Paine. They flew, side by side, with all of Alagaësia beneath them._

_Morzan was flying towards the village where his wife was visiting her father, who was very old and on the verge of death. Morzan's son, Murtagh, who was five years old at the time, was left in their home in Doru Araeba. _

_Brom had asked to accompany him, as he was won't to do for he idolized Morzan and his prowess as a rider. Though at times Morzan took advantage of his devotion by making him do some mundane tasks, Brom did not mind for he believed he was helping out a greater rider than he and thus serving Alagaësia in a way. It was only later that Brom realized his foolishness. Looking back on his time then, he would see how he was so young and naive._

_At that moment they flew over the Empire, two great and powerful warriors flying on their magnificent dragons across the vast sky that was their domain. They finally landed near the village, at the foot of the mountains of the Spine. It was a few miles northeast of Lake Fläm on the eastern side of the Spine. There, a collection of about sixteen buildings huddled together against the vastness of the plains with the mountains looming over them._

_Morzan leaped off Paine, and after conversing with it mentally the red-scaled dragon went airborne. Brom carefully dismounted, turning to Sephyr and telling him to behave. _

It is you who must stay out of trouble_, said Sephyr sternly, though there was a hint of amusement in his tone._

_Brom nodded and then ran after Morzan, who was already halfway to the village from where they had landed. Soon enough they reached a small, plain-looking house near the middle of the village. There were few people, and those that saw them on the streets quickly went inside their homes. Suspicion and wariness was in their eyes, and they wondered what brought two riders to their small village. Morzan seemed to pay no attention to them as he had walked through the village without pause, Brom following close by. Morzan knocked without hesitation and a few seconds of waiting later the door opened a crack and a woman peered out at them._

_A sudden gasp and the door flung open, revealing Morzan's wife, Elena. She was a pretty woman with soft features, red hair, and blue eyes. Freckles dotted her face. She looked exhausted, with dark circles under her eyes, but her face lit up when she saw Morzan. She wore a simple but well-made dress, a gift no doubt from Morzan. She closed the gap between them in two quick steps and launched herself on him, arms wrapping tightly around Morzan as if she did not want to ever let go. Morzan, who was stiff at first, returned the hug and his face softened into a small smile._

_They looked as if they were going to hold each other forever until finally Elena broke the hug and kissed him soundly on the lips. She stepped back then and turned to Brom, who at that point felt rather embarrassed to be there and was staring intently at something next to his shoes. He looked up when she walked over to him and gave him a short hug._

_"Thank you for coming along with him," she whispered and then let go of him._

_He gave her a nod in response._

_"Please, come inside." She moved aside and ushered them into the house. As they walked in she closed the door and locked it._

_The room they entered was rather small, with a narrow staircase on the right that presumably led to the bedrooms upstairs. There was a round table with six chairs and a small cabinet on the wall behind it. There was a square window there with the drapes pulled shut. Two doors on the left and straight across from the front door each led to separate rooms, the kitchen on the left and a living room in the back. By the door there was a coat hanger that looked like it was broken before and hastily put back together with nails and extra wood._

_"I was just preparing dinner," said Elena as she walked with haste back into the kitchen. Both men noticed the smell of cooking meat that wafted through the open doorway from the kitchen. Feeling a little out of place, Brom crossed his arms and leaned against the wall by the front door content to observe. Morzan, meanwhile walked into the kitchen after his wife and wordlessly began to help her. She gave him a smile of gratitude as they worked together to make the meal ready._

_Soon enough they were told to sit down to eat while she went and fetched her sister from upstairs. An older woman who resembled Elena descended the stairs and introduced herself as Anna. She was shorter and chubbier than Elena, but with the same red hair, blue eyes, and freckled face. She explained to them that she would stay by their father's side while they ate, and so grabbed some food of her own and then a bowl of hot soup and a mug of water for the ailing father. Carrying all that she carefully went back up._

_They ate in silence for a time, their meal consisting of some roasted potatoes and vegetables with some pork chops. It was a very good meal, in Brom's opinion._

_"How is he?" asked Morzan._

_Elena sighed and stopped eating as she looked at first Morzan and then Brom, then back to her husband. "He is very ill and the fever will not subside. He does not seem to know that we are in the room, and he whispers things that we cannot understand. Sometimes he shakes and convulses. The local magician here says that he cannot be saved and that he will pass within the week." Her voice seemed resigned to that and she frowned as she continued eating._

_Morzan did not touch his food for another minute before he said, "Let me take a look at him."_

_Elena looked at him with a sudden hope. "Do you think...?" She chocked back some tears that threatened to fall._

_Morzan shook his head, "I... do not know for sure. But I can try."_

_Elena stood then and beckoned for Morzan to follow, their food forgotten. Though Brom was still somewhat hungry, he ignored it as he too stood and followed them up the stairs. The narrow stairs led up to a similarly narrow corridor with three doors. They walked to the last one, which was ajar._

_They entered the room and Anna shot them a curious glance. Elena explained to her that perhaps Morzan could help him._

_The older rider looked at the man who lay on the bed, oblivious to the sudden crowd in his room. He was sweating and salivating slightly. His eyes fluttered open and closed, though mostly stayed closed. His mouth moved as if he were talking, to whom and what he was saying was known only to him. His hands were shaking and his feet twitched every few seconds._

_Morzan knelt beside him and reached out his hands. Before he could do anything, Brom grabbed his shoulder which elicited a glare from Morzan for interrupting him._

_"What?" he snapped._

_"You do not know what ails him, Morzan. How do you know what to do?" said Brom, knowing that trying to heal an injury or illness you did not know about via magic was most often fruitless and ended with the magician spent of energy._

_Morzan turned back to the old man on the bed, "I must try."_

_And try he did. He spent an hour, breaking into a sweat of his own. The old man moaned a little and his hands stopped shaking and his feet stopped twitching. His breathing slowed and became steady._

_Morzan finally opened his eyes and in them was a vast weariness. He tried to get back on his feet, but stumbled as he did so causing Brom to get a hold of him. His head drooped and his breathing became ragged. Elena quickly rushed over to him, kneeling down on the ground as Brom handed him off to her. He studied the rider he so idolized and wondered if he had indeed healed Elena's and Anna's father. He turned to him and then felt his brow - it was cool to the touch. His mouth no longer moved, in fact he was completely still save for the rise and fall of his chest._

_"Did he do it?" whispered Anna to no one in particular, holding her hands at her sides as she edged closer to her father._

_Brom shrugged, "We will not know for sure until your father wakes, but he seems better at least."_

_Anna nodded absently as she grabbed her father's hand._

_Elena hugged Morzan, whose breathing finally returned to normal. She grabbed one of the towels they would use to dry off her father and wiped the sweat off of her husband's face. He weakly thanked her._

_Brom admired his courage for trying, but he could very well have died if it was a mortal wound that required too much energy. While Morzan was strong, he was not yet that strong. Not to mention using the wrong words in the ancient language might have cost him dearly as well. Putting things into perspective, however, Brom was happy he had not only survived but it seemed that he had succeeded._

_Later that night, Elena and Morzan slept in one of the other rooms and Brom was offered the other. Though he initially refused saying he could not possibly stay in the room while Anna had to sleep on the floor, she had insisted. She had to be near her father in case he needed her. Reluctantly he accepted, and he was lying face up on the rather stiff bed as moonlight glowed from the small window. He did not know what time it was when it happened, but he remembered first the loud roars of triumph and challenge and then the screams._

_He bolted upright in his bed, unsure if he had perhaps been half-asleep and imagined what he had heard. But they rang true and clear through the night. The bellows and roars of Urgals echoed through the village as war drums beat a steady rhythm. Screams of terror and pain erupted._

_He reached out with his mind and found that Sephyr was already on his way along with Paine. They had not seen the advancing Urgals for they were elsewhere, but they flew with haste back to the village. Into the corridor, he saw Morzan with a terrified Elena behind him. His eyes were shining with anger. Brom could sense his bloodlust for battle._

_"The Urgals picked the wrong village to attack tonight," said Morzan and Brom nodded grimly. Already he had his sword in hand. He did not, however, have his armor so he would have to be more cautious as he only had a cloth shirt and leggings. Morzan had seen fit to wear some light armor on him already, and he told Elena to hide in their father's room. Both riders went downstairs, their swords drawn._

_Brom had his aquamarine blue sword, Undbitr, while Morzan had his crimson blade, Zar'roc. Brom extended his mind outwards and felt the Urgal spellcasters recoil in surprise and shock while he sensed the minds of all the other warriors._

_"At least sixty, perhaps eighty Urgals," Brom quickly said, and then he felt the mind of a powerful magical being who also recoiled at first but then launched a strong attack against him._

_Brom grimaced as he steadied himself against the wall, putting up his mental defenses. Whoever this magician was, he was indeed powerful, but Brom was able to hold him off. The attack relented and Brom eased his breathing, looking with worry at Morzan who fleetingly returned the look before hardening his demeanor._

_"There is a strong mage here," said Brom._

_Morzan gave him a nod, "Enough talk. Let us slay them all." His statement was so simple and yet carried with it strong emotional weight for the tone was of anger and vengeance._

_They burst out of the door, swords up, and three Urgals that were in front of the house stepped back in surprise. They died the next second as Morzan slew two of them in a brilliant slashing of his sword and Brom pierced the other Urgal's throat and then half-severed its head. They fell to the ground in bloody thuds. Using magic, Morzan levitated rocks and threw them at an oncoming group of ten Urgals. From the other side of the street, another group of six, one of whom Brom realized was a magician, howled as they raced towards the two riders._

_Back-to-back, Brom and Morzan faced off the attackers on either side. Then Morzan sprung forward and struck the nearest Urgal, killing it instantly. Ducking underneath an attack then sidestepping another, his blade singing death and destruction all the while. He roared his own battle cry as Urgals fell before him._

_Brom had slain two Urgals as they came to him, while the other four stayed back. Then the Urgal spellcaster attacked his mind, and he steeled it. He realized then that the other Urgals went to attack him. He knew that if he faltered in his concentration, the other spellcaster may take hold of his mind, and so he focused immensely on the mental fight. The Urgals were upon him and he relied mostly on instinct and reflexes to block and avoid the attacks. It was difficult for him, and he was already sweating and feeling somewhat weak from the effort._

_Morzan had slain the ten Urgals and were fighting another group of about seven when the stronger magical being stepped onto the street where they had been fighting. He had flaming red hair, blood-red eyes, and as he smiled he revealed rows of teeth sharpened into points. It was a Shade._

There is a Shade!_ he exclaimed in his thoughts, and Paine told him that he and Sephyr were soon to descend upon the village._

_Brom had actually managed to break the Urgal spellcaster in a massive counter-attack, but he was rewarded with a large gash in his arm as he was unable to completely avoid an axe that was swung at him. With the spellcaster dead, however, he whispered one of the words of death and instantly killed the three Urgals around him. He felt the drain in his energy, but he was still strong enough to continue and he pushed himself off the ground and placed a hand over his wounded right arm. _

_"_Waíse heill!" he whispered and a slight glow and a tingling, itchy sensation coursed through his arm. The gash was healed, almost as if it had never even been inflicted upon him. Turning, he saw Morzan cut off the hand of an Urgal, sending its battle-axe to the ground, and then he slashed its from groin to neck as he approached the Shade, who had his own blade out.__

__"Ah, you must be... a rider?" he drawled, "Quite a surprise to see you in this pitiful village. Have the riders stooped so low?" He looked around, waving his hand, "And where are your dragons? Could you not afford to feed them anymore?"__

_Brom rushed over to him, but Morzan sensed that and half-turned to him, "Stay by the house, Brom! You must protect them!"_

_Brom stopped and begrudgingly began to walk back to the house. Sure enough, more Urgals poured into the street after ransacking some of the other houses. A few of the men had gone out to fight and defend their homes, and they were battling somewhere in the village for Brom could hear the sounds of metal and swords. As soon as some of the Urgals saw him they charged, roaring all the while. One of them tried to gore him with his horns, but ended up headless and sprawled on the ground._

_Brom stole a quick glance over to Morzan, who was battling the Shade with his mind as they both stood motionless with their eyes locked. He hoped that Morzan could take him, but he was not so sure. A Shade was far more powerful than a single rider without his dragon._

_Almost as if on cue, twin roars of anger emanated from the sky. Some of the Urgals stopped to look up, but then continued to fight. Urgals were not one to retreat, no matter the odds. Their society demanded that if they were in combat they fought to victory or death. Brom slew four more Urgals as he stood by the door of the house, his blade wet with black blood. A stream of fire burst from a passing dragon, and Brom sensed it was Sephyr._

About time you got here_, he projected wearily to his bond-mate._

_He responded with a roar and then said, _We are sorry we were not here sooner. We should not have strayed as far as we did from you, but we did not expect such danger here.

_Brom slew two Urgals with the words of death as he avoided a swinging axe and then brought his sword up and through the Urgal's head, the top of his sword piercing the top of the Urgal's skull. He could feel his energy reserves dropping, and then a sudden surge of energy renewed him as he realized Sephyr was giving him some of his. He mentally thanked the dragon._

Paine and I cannot land without destroying houses. Paine says that Morzan is still struggling with the Shade and that he will try to help his rider soon,_ said Sephyr._

_Brom acknowledged that as several Urgals emerged onto their street. Three of them were Kull, Brom realized, as they towered over even their other Urgal brethren. They eyed him and then the many dead Urgals that lay on the street. Then one of the Kull said in a rough voice, "Whoever slays him shall be a war chief!"_

_Loud roars erupted then as nine Urgals, including the three Kull, rushed towards him with weapons ready._

_Brom quickly used magic to kill two of the closest Urgals, but then did not have much more time to say another spell as he was assaulted. He plunged his sword into one, barely jumping to the side as axes and swords swung where he had just been standing. He wrenched his sword out from the dead Urgal and then jumped into the house. The door frame might give him an advantage._

_Sure enough, the Urgals' numbers were naught as they had to go through one at a time and barely fit through the door way. Brom slew three who tried to get at him before the other Urgals took a moment to think of how best to reach him. Suddenly, he heard a loud boom in the back and he realized there must have been a back door to the house. He grabbed an axe off of one of the dead Urgals and speaking quickly as the other Urgals out in front of the house waited for those in the back to distract him. Then he threw the axe out and it began to swing and fly around on its own, maiming one of the Kull and killing another Urgal._

_There was a loud roar and a thundering crash, but Brom did not know what happened. He rushed up the stairs, thankful that it was narrow and would funnel the Urgals even more. Indeed, one of them tried to follow him up the stairs but then got stuck and it was a simple matter for Brom to strike him dead with his sword._

_Suddenly, the house began to shudder and shake. _They're trying to take the house down!_ he thought and sure enough Sephyr sent him an image of the Urgals and Kull hacking away at the wooden frame of the house._

_A moment later he reached the door where they hid and knocked on it, yelling out, "It's Brom! We must leave at once!"_

_The door swung open to reveal two frightened women, daggers in hand, and a still unconscious old man lying on his bed._

_"We have to leave, NOW!" he cried. His mind cast out to Sephyr, _You must help us! Clear a path out there!

At once_, came the reply and another mighty roar echoed through the night and then another thundering crash, this time it sounded like it happened just outside. There were loud cries of anguish and pain as the Urgals were torn apart by Sephyr's claws and mighty jaws. He sent a stream of fear towards a group of Urgals, burning them but then also catching the house on fire._

Oops, _he said to Brom through their link, _I accidentally set the house on fire. Leave quickly! It spreads fast!

_Brom hurried down the steps with the old man draped across his shoulder. The two women, wide-eyed and frightened out of their minds followed at his heels._

_Sephyr stood waiting outside, a few wounds on his sides but none too serious. There were a few Urgals that scurried about, but none dared challenge the blue-scaled dragon. Brom saw the two remaining Kull had been slain._

_He looked at Sephyr and said out loud so that the women could hear, "You must take them to safety. Understand?"_

_Sephyr gave a nod with his giant head, _I shall protect them_, _but I cannot take all three safely. You know this, especially since they are not used to riding.

_"Okay, Anna you first, then I'll bring your father up and you should help support him. I'll keep you safe myself, Elena. This battle is almost over anyways."_

_Elena did not seem to pay attention as she was looking on at Morzan, who had fallen onto one knee. He was still staring at the Shade, who was grimacing at the strain of their mind battle._

_"Will he be okay..?" she asked, reaching out a hand as if to touch him._

_"Yes, especially with Paine here. But I will go help him once you are safe," he said. He helped Anna strap in and then brought the old man up and made sure he was secure and that she was holding on to him. Then Sephyr launched into the air, leaving the two on the ground._

_"He shall be fine, we must go to a safer place," he tried to reassure her, though he himself did not believe his words. His eyes scanned around for any remaining Urgals, but there did not seem to be any._

_But he spoke too soon._

_Four Urgals were coming up from behind Morzan. Realizing what was about to happen, he cried out and ran towards the rider. His hand reached out and his Gedwëy Ignasia began to shine with a bright light. The four Urgals collapsed, and Brom felt his calves cramp as energy left him. He fell to the ground and looked up to see that he had been a fraction too late, for as one of the Urgals fell to his death his axe had been swinging high above him and it came down upon Morzan. It gashed his shoulder, but it was more than enough to break his concentration._

_The Shade smiled._

_"No," Brom whispered, and with as much force as he could muster he slammed his consciousness against the Shade's, who recoiled from the impact and took several steps back. He had been about to kill the rider, having taken control of his mind, but this new onslaught forced him on the defensive._

_Then suddenly, Paine roared and flew overheard. The smile disappeared from the Shade's face and was replaced with a scowl._

_Brom's energy was spent and his attack withered, but the Shade did not counter as the red-scaled dragon flew towards him and flame erupted from his mouth. The Shade jumped out of the way, but then as he stood to leave and Paine flew by, his tail whipped into the Shade. A massive spike gored through the Shade's stomach. It screamed an unholy pitch as it hurtled towards one of the burning houses._

_Elena had rushed over to him, and he waved her off weakly. "Go, check on your husband," he whispered._

_She nodded and ran towards Morzan where he lay motionless. She cried out, thinking he might be dead, but he still had breath though he was not conscious. Paine circled overhead and readied to land._

_Brom looked up again as he managed to get onto his knees. His breathing was labored and he felt weak._

_Then it happened. Almost as if in slow motion. There they lay, the two lovers in the midst of death and destruction. Lifeless bodies, splintered and broken wood, burning homes, and blood surrounded them as Elena held him close to her. There were tears in her eyes. And then, out of nowhere, an arrow flew and struck her. Elena was pushed forward by the impact, almost dropping Morzan to the ground, but she clutched him even tighter. Then another followed it._

_Brom let loose a cry of despair and Paine, realizing what happened, roared again and landed on top of the Urgal archer - the lone Urgal survivor. He tore the Urgal apart, leaving a cloud of black blood and tattered remains. The dragon quickly bounded over and protectively covered the couple. Elena, two arrows protruding from her back, stroked Morzan's face slowly as she looked at him with affection._

_Brom struggled to walk as fast as he was able to. His mind instantly touched Paine's, and the dragon's eyes alone pleaded with him. _Lend me your strength_, he said weakly._

_Then there was a surge of power and energy in him. He quickly drew the arrows from her back with magic and then healed her wounds. Even though Paine lent him his energy, he still felt even more tired from casting the spells. Finally, he turned to Morzan and healed his wounds as well. Then he went down to the ground and lay there. Of all that he had done, it was attacking the Shade that had taken the most out of him. Of course it had been a long time since he had fought in any battle, and so his endurance was not at its best, but he chastised himself for being so soft and weak. Morzan would not approve - he of course valued strength above all._

_"Will he be alright?" Elena asked again, her voice soft._

_Paine bent his head down and touched his rider's head with his snout._

_Brom nodded, "I believe so."_

_All of a sudden Elena turned to the side and began to heave. She vomited, and there was blood as well as some of the dinner they had eaten._

_"I don't... feel so good.." she said before she wavered and then fell backwards._

_Brom's eyes widened and he cursed. He had not realized the arrow points were poisoned! His mind raced and he felt a renewed vigor rise up within him. Using this energy he quickly cast a spell to neutralize any poisons working within her, but then he realized with growing despair that the damage had been done. Her inner wounds were far too mortal for him to heal. He could not believe it. He did not want to believe that he had failed to check for poisons. Of course the Urgals coated their arrows with toxin! Watching as the life ebbed away from Elena, he could not help but begin to cry. She smiled a sad smile, then she looked to Morzan._

_"I love you," she whispered towards her husband. They were to be her last words._

_Her breath left her and she stilled. Her eyes still stared at Morzan, but gone was the loving look she had but seconds earlier. Replacing it instead was the glassiness and the emptiness that followed death._

_Brom still could not believe what he had done. What he had failed to do. He looked at his hands, obscured by the tears that welled in his eyes. He had made a grave mistake, and the love of his best friend, of his brother, had died because of it. He did not know if he could ever forgive himself, and he wondered if Morzan would._

_Paine let out a roar of anguish and sent a jet of fire into the sky._

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><p><strong>AN: **Thanks for all the reviews and support! If you did not guess the entire italics part was Brom dreaming of the night he made a grave mistake. The night that caused him and Morzan to eventually part ways. Once close as brothers, they were no longer.


	8. Morzan

_**DISCLAIMER: **_The Inheritance Cycle is not owned by me. Christopher Paolini owns that universe which he created.

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><p><strong>Edge of Oblivion<strong>

_Chapter VII - Morzan_

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><p>Dawn announced itself with light that slowly fought back the darkness. Sephyr and Paine were already awake, each eyeing the other as their respective riders finally stirred from their slumber.<p>

Morzan stretched as he rolled onto his back and then sat up. His back felt somewhat stiff from sleeping on the hard ground, even though he had covered it with a blanket for him to rest upon. It had been a long time since he had slept upon soil before. He looked over at Brom with a neutral expression. The other rider was also shaking the cobwebs of sleep from his mind, it seemed.

"How far are we?" he asked, the first words he had spoken since Brom had told him about his knowledge of the Shade's whereabouts.

Just thinking about the Shade riled his anger, but he suppressed it with great effort. He would unleash it soon enough, and Durza would know the fury of Morzan, the Dragon Rider.

Brom rubbed his short beard, "Only a few hours. We shall be upon them by mid-day if we so choose, but I feel it would be best to wait until nightfall to preserve our element of surprise."

Morzan's eyes narrowed at that and he felt the anger rising up in him again. "You want to wait? Night or day we will have the advantage of surprise so long as they know not of our approach until we are upon them!" He tightened his hands into fists as he spoke. "The more we wait, the greater the chance he will have left. You said so yourself that you are not sure if the Shade will still be there. If we leave now, and should the blasted Shade have gone we can at least hunt him down for his tracks and scent would still be fresh upon the ground."

He could not believe that Brom would want to wait. _Just like the damned elves! _he scowled in his thoughts.

Paine interrupted then, saying, _Calm, Morzan. We may yet need his assistance and it would be wise not to offend him. And he is already helping us find that evil Shade whom you seek, is he not?_

His solid reasoning served to soothe his anger and he softened his demeanor a little.

Brom's expression was unreadable for once as he looked at him. Then he assented by saying, "Then let us ride."

They flew low, hugging the mountains as they wove their way through them in the hopes that they would not be seen so quickly. Sure enough, after the sun had passed its zenith in the sky Sephr angled to descend with Paine quickly following suit.

Morzan's heart fluttered slightly as he anticipated the battle to come. He had grown even stronger since their last encounter, though he had no doubts the Shade had as well. But his thirst for vengeance, his anger, would be strong enough to overcome the Shade - or so he hoped. His hand dropped unconsciously to the hilt of Zar'roc as they got closer to the ground.

As they landed, Brom turned on his saddle and looked at Morzan. "There is a camp of Urgals at the base of the mountain before us, and it is set up in front of a cave where my source tells me the Shade resides."

Morzan's heart started beating faster. The anticipation and anxiety welling up inside of him was increasing at a rapid pace. Vengeance was close at hand.

"Then let us tarry no further," said Morzan as he gritted his teeth and Paine moved to fly.

"Wait!" cried Brom, but it was already too late as Paine flew into the sky and Morzan ignored his calls. "Damn!" he yelled as he gripped his saddle, "I guess we won't have a plan of attack other than to attack." Brom sighed as he indicated to Sephyr to follow the red dragon, who had already loosed a roar of defiance.

_A simple enough plan_, Sephyr said.

Echoing across the mountainside was the sound of multiple Urgal horns as the large warriors, caught by surprise, leaped to their feet with weapons in hand. Paine had already loosed a torrent of flames at several of the big tents, igniting them and the Urgals inside as they howled in agony and died. From his saddle Morzan launched magical attacks, killing some Urgals with ease as their spellcasters had not readied themselves. A few more were struck down as Paine landed on a group of three Urgals, crushing them under his weight, and then he lashed out at two more close by with his menacing claws.

Arrows loosed at them deflected off into random tangents as they hit the barriers Morzan had erected around himself and Paine, and he drew Zar'roc then as he yelled, "DURZA! I COME FOR YOU!" Paine bellowed a roar that shook the trees and seemingly the very mountain.

Sephyr finally caught up to them and flew around the camp, setting fire to anything else that was not already burning and with a sweep of its tail as it flew by sent four Urgals flying into the air with deep gashes from his sharp tail spikes. The Urgals, who had numbered roughly sixty before were already down to about two dozen and they had retreated towards the cave entrance.

Morzan smirked, "Urgals retreating? Never have I seen such cowardice," he said out loud to Paine who sent a feeling of smugness and triumph back through their link. With his urging Paine bounded over to the cave entrance and inhaled mightily before opening his jaws and unleashing a stream of fire into the cave. He held the stream for half a minute before he closed his jaws and growled. Blackened stone revealed itself where it had not been moments before, evidence of the intense heat that Paine had released.

Surveying the scene, Morzan grinned with satisfaction and then dismounted from his dragon. Smoke filled the air as well as the stench of Urgals and burnt flesh, but he did not seem to be affected.

Sephyr landed behind Paine and in a matter of seconds Brom was at Morzan's side. "That was incredibly foolish, jumping in without a plan and without at least scouting what we are up against," said the younger of the two as he looked at Morzan with a neutral expression.

Morzan shrugged, "It worked."

Brom did not reply as he peered into the cave, the entrance was too small for their dragons to enter. He had not realized the implications of that until that moment, and he did not like it at all. To be separated from their dragons would be to take away a large part of their strength, perhaps that was why the Shade preferred to stay within the depths of a cave where no dragon could reach him. A feeling of great unease settled in his stomach.

Morzan had already taken a few steps into the cave, Zar'roc drawn and ready to strike, when Brom called out to him. Annoyance flashed on the older rider's face as he turned.

"What is it now, Brom?"

Brom explained to him his misgivings.

Morzan shook his head, "Are you so afraid, Brom? There are two of us, and not even a Shade can fight against two powerful riders, with or without dragons. Now let's go before he finds a way to escape from our grasp!" He turned and with a muttered word a shining orb of light materialized in front of him and then floated upwards, casting a faint yellow light that illuminated the dark recesses of the cave. Several Urgals lay dead a few paces ahead, burnt to a crisp and their bodies still smoking.

The other rider hesitated for a moment, turning to look at Sephyr, and then he too entered the cave.

-**xxx**-

They had followed the stone passageways of the cave as it twisted and turned. They went ever deeper into the heart of the mountain, and with each step Brom's fear and apprehension grew. His eyes darted from shadow to shadow, wary of any traps. Undbitr was held tightly in his hand, ready to defend and to kill.

Morzan, meanwhile, did not share his fears. If anything, as they went deeper he got more excited. He could feel magic in the air, dark magic, and he knew the Shade was close. He could also smell the Urgals and for a brief moment he wondered how many had survived and how many had hidden in the cave. He knew that they were most probably walking into a trap, but with Brom at his side, the two of them could face any challenge. They were strong enough.

"I don't like this," muttered Brom as they emerged into a larger cavern. So large that the light from the orb could not reach the other side and so it seemed the cavern stretched endlessly into darkness. There were strange echoes in the cave, from the dripping of water to the whistling of the wind that blew every now and then. There was also the sound of shuffling and on occasion slight whisperings.

Morzan stiffened. He thought he saw some movement ahead. He brought Zar'roc up a little higher as he slowed his forward movement. They were walking towards the middle of the cavern, darkness surrounding the bubble of light that the orb was able to create around them.

Then a lone figure slowly appeared out of the shadows before them.

Morzan's grip on Zar'roc tightened to the point he thought he heard his knuckles crack. "Durza," he spat.

The Shade smiled, revealing his sharp teeth. Amusement showed on his face, and it angered Morzan. How could he be amused?

"We meet again, riders," the same drawl spoke with calm. "To what do I owe the pleasure of this most unpleasant visit?"

Brom and Morzan said nothing, but neither did they move to attack. They both felt that there was something wrong. Not even the Shade was armed, with his hands clasped behind his back. It was almost as if he _wanted_ them to attack. What he was playing it, they were not sure.

"I know I am a striking sight to behold, but that does not mean you should hold your tongues," the Shade said with a hint of annoyance. "In any case, I know why you are here. You have come to avenge her death, yes?"

Morzan visibly bristled at that, and the rage ignited within him once more. He grit his teeth and moved Zar'roc to a better position so as to strike. "You will die today, Shade. And it will be by my blade," Morzan stated simply.

The Shade merely laughed lightly, "You may try."

Morzan leaped forward and closed the distance between them, Zar'roc swinging through the air. Brom reached out his hand, "No! Morzan!" But again he was too late.

The Shade moved with incredible speed, stepping aside from the slashing red sword of Morzan and unclasped his hands behind him, revealing his blade that he had kept hidden. He smiled again, and the it served to infuriate Morzan even more. He wanted to destroy the wretched red-haired monstrosity, and his desire to do so was so great his muscles quivered from the tension and energy welling within him. He was so focused on the Shade he failed to realize the appearance of Urgals all around them, and though he could faintly hear Brom yelling his name he paid no attention. There was, in his mind, only him and the Shade.

They circled each other for a moment before Morzan pounced again, his sword slicing quickly through the air. But the Shade was faster and parried his blow with ease, and the next, and the next one after that too. Morzan fought, putting forth all his energy and skill, and still he could not get past the Shade's defense. He gritted his teeth as he blocked a counter-attack that shook his entire arm from the force of it. Durza was not only fast, he was strong too. Far faster and stronger than Morzan had anticipated. A momentary thought bubbled within his mind that he might not live through the fight, but he squashed it and let his rage consume him once more.

_No_, he thought, _I will not be bested_.

He let loose a war cry as he went at the Shade again, and a look of surprise flashed upon the deathly white face before it disappeared and he returned to his taunting smile. Red eyes buzzing with a maniacal energy. Morzan began to move faster and hit harder, for the Shade had to work harder in fighting, but still the Shade had the upper hand and forced the rider into a hasty retreat.

"You cannot win, rider," said Durza as brushed aside some stray red hair that had fallen across his face. His red eyes glinted in the faint light of the orb above them. "But why fight me, if you can join me?"

Morzan scowled at him, "Join you?" he spat, "Never." And he quickly said a spell that would hold the Shade in place. He felt the drain from the spell almost immediately after he cast it, and the Shade's eyes widened in surprise. Then they squinted as Morzan stepped closer, visibly tiring as the spell drained so much since the Shade was fighting back against it. He drew energy from Zar'roc, which contained a massive amount, and he managed to hold the Shade still because of it. He stood before it with a smile of triumph.

He raised Zar'roc and slowly hacked at Durza's body, and the Shade though inhuman still felt pain and he hissed. Large gashes bled profusely, and still the Shade did not move. Morzan drew energy from Zar'roc again to sustain the spell. He was getting dangerously tired from it, but he was almost done. He looked straight into Durza's eyes as he spoke, "That was for nearly killing me."

He then pointed the tip of his sword over the Shade's heart. "And this," he said, "Is for my wife."

But just as he was about to thrust the blade deep into Durza's heart, something rammed him from the side and sent him sprawling to the ground. Delirious, he suddenly grew extremely exhausted and in his mind he realized the spell was still active. He cancelled it with great effort and regret, for it would have killed him had he not done so. He tried to move, but the effort was too much for him. He could not even find it in himself to draw more energy from Zar'roc, and slowly he lost consciousness. The last thing he felt was the cold stone floor of the cavern, and in the distance echoing were the sounds of battle.

-**xxx**-

Brom ran through the tunnels, his breathing uneven. He had cuts and bruises all over, but no major injuries thankfully - which was a miracle considering the Urgal force that had ambushed him. And it seemed, only him. For Morzan had gone after the Shade and not one Urgal went to help, all of them concentrating on Brom.

His mind was racing. The sounds of rallying Urgals echoed behind him. Turning, he sent a few spells down where he had just come from, eliciting a few cries of pain and several thuds. He felt the drain of the spells, but he was not so affected by it this time around. Still he could hear more Urgals. It was almost as if the very earth had spat them out and they were coming through the tunnels to the surface. Towards him.

He could not go back to find Morzan, no matter how much he wanted to. The other rider had to fend for himself until he could return. Bringing the Urgals to the surface would even the battle and he knew he would win it easily with the two dragons. It was going back in to find Morzan that worried him.

Soon enough, he neared the entrance to the cave as light shone through from its mouth. He squinted, his eyes feeling some pain as they adjusted to the sudden brightness. Paine was there, and Sephyr. They had moved farther down the small slope that led to the cave, and their heads swiveled up upon his arrival.

_Where is Morzan?_ exclaimed Paine, red eyes boring into him and teeth bared. _I can feel him in pain__!_

Brom shook his head, _"_We were separated," a pained look in his eyes, "There were too many Urgals for me to do anything. He can take care of himself, besides you would know if he was..." he did not finish the sentence. He finally spoke, "Once we thin them out I can go back in and find him."

Almost as if on cue, Urgals streamed from the mouth of the cave. Some of them slowed, taken by surprise at the sight of two large dragons, but they continued their charge. Though it would prove to be a grave mistake for them as none survived the ensuing battle. Paine killed most of them in his rage and desire to find his rider.

Sephyr looked at Brom with concern as his rider looked tired, _Are you sure you are okay?_

Brom nodded, a grim expression on his face, _I will be fine. It is Morzan I am worried about_, and with that he turned to Paine. "I will find him and return him to you," he stated to the red dragon with a determined look.

Paine watched as he went back inside, _You had better._ Thoughts of tearing up the mountain to search for his rider entertained his thoughts.

-**xxx**-

Morzan stirred. Slowly.

There was darkness. Then he realized it was because his eyes had been closed. Opening them slowly, he found himself lying face down on the cold, stone floor of the cavern. His thoughts were a haze as he tried to remember where he was and what he was doing there. Ever so slowly, he turned onto his back. He groaned as his head began to hurt. With a start his mind remembered what had happened.

Reaching for Zar'roc, which lay a foot away from him, he slowly got onto his feet. Wobbling for a moment, he did not know what happened to Brom and he dared not reach out with his consciousness lest the Shade attack him in his weakened state. Sapping some energy from the jewel of his trusty blade, he felt a little better.

His lighted orb, he realized, had disappeared. In its place was a larger, brighter orb. It was stationary high above him, and he realized that it managed to bring light to most of the cavern, though dimly in the distant parts. He wondered who had set it up, and before he could even think on the answer to the question, a voice spoke behind him and startled him.

"You were lucky to survive," said a low voice. "Not everyone who faces a Shade and passes out in the fight manages to escape unscathed. But you can thank me later."

Spinning with Zar'roc up in front of him, Morzan saw that it was not Durza. The man was clothed in armor of fine steel and make. He seemed preoccupied with his thoughts as he sat upon a large, but relatively smooth rock formation. Long black hair, somewhat unruly, went to just above shoulder-height, and his eyes seemed black and dark.

"Who are you?" asked Morzan, confused. He had not moved from where he stood roughly fifteen paces away.

The stranger let out a grunt, "I am the man who saved your life."

"And I thank you for that," Morzan replied, "But what were you doing in these caves in the first place?" His eyes narrowed slightly in suspicion.

The dark-haired man waved a hand, "This cave, I heard, was where the Shade was staying. I came here to slay it. Alas, in order to save you I could not land a killing blow in my haste. It has receded into its spectral form, and shall return again in time, but as of right now it is no more."

Morzan shook his head, Zar'roc lowering ever so slightly as his mind processed the information. _The Shade lives! _His thoughts then turned to the realization that he had failed. _I could not defeat him_, he thought, _Where was Brom? He should have helped me! _Indeed, he looked around and wondered where Brom was. It was then that he saw the lifeless bodies of many an Urgal littering the cavern floor and scattered towards the entrance. Morzan knew it was not he who had done that. Had Brom left him here to die?

He could not fathom why he would do such a thing. _This was his thanks? This was how he was to help me? To bring me so close to achieving victory, and then leaving me to die here as soon as I fell?_ his thoughts raged. He turned to the stranger, "Did you see what happened to my companion?"

The man shook his head, "Unfortunately, no. There were Urgals attacking him and he fled. No doubt he has returned to the surface by now, or is dead."

Finally, after a moment of silence Morzan lowered his sword and walked closer to the stranger. Warily, he stopped about five feet away. It dawned on Morzan that the man looked strangely familiar. "What is your name, stranger? So that I may give you a proper boon and praise for saving my life."

The man gave him a wear smile, finally looking up into Morzan's different colored eyes. He stood to his full height, which was about two inches taller than Morzan, who was already quite tall. "My name is Galbatorix."

_Why does that name sound so familiar..? I feel like I have seen him before, and yet I cannot remember where or when_, he thought. He nodded, "Very well, Galbatorix. I thank you for saving me, you may ask for a boon and if it is within my power I shall grant it so that I may repay this great debt."

Galbatorix stepped forward, and his closeness made Morzan feel suddenly cautious. His right hand poised to strike with Zar'roc, should the need arise.

"I have but one request of you, Morzan," he spoke.

"How do you know my name?" asked the rider in shock, taking two steps back and raising his sword to point at Galbatorix.

The dark-haired man grinned, "Because we met once, in Vroengard if you recall. You were but a novice then, still in training... ah, so many years ago." He began to pace, "You see, I used to be a rider. Just like you. Well, I still consider myself to be one, but..." and he paused.

Morzan's mouth slowly opened and closed, then he realized who he was talking to. "You lost your dragon..." he whispered. He remembered now.

Galbatorix nodded, sadness enveloping his features and eyes for a moment, before they were wiped away as quickly as they had come. "Indeed. It was very... difficult, to say the least. And when I asked the elders for a new dragon, they denied me. They denied me my return to happiness. They denied me a chance to fill the gaping hole that fills my every waking moment." His voice had begun to be laced with venom. "You cannot imagine how it feels to walk around with an enormous piece of your soul missing. The one being who you spent many years with in intimate contact with each other's minds suddenly gone. The only thing to answer your voice were the shadows in your dreams..."

"But, I persevered. Instead of going mad and killing myself, I made myself stronger. And you, Morzan, you respect strength, do you not?"

Morzan nodded slowly, but said nothing.

"Well, rest assured it has been a long and tumultuous journey, but I succeeded. I am stronger than I ever was," there was a glint of pride in his eyes, and the way he spoke belied a vast self-confidence. Morzan could not help but believe him. "As you can imagine, I am very much disillusioned by the leadership of the riders. They are too soft, too elven, and because of that they are unworthy. How else can you explain the continued havoc of the Shade? How else can you explain their refusal to grant me another dragon? I am sure that if I had been an elven rider they would not have hesitated so.

But because I was _human_," he emphasized, "They did not help me."

Morzan was enthralled by his speech, Zar'roc in his grasp but hanging loosely at his side as he listened. His words rang true to Morzan's very core.

He stopped pacing and turned to Morzan, and in a very serious manner spoke with a powerful voice, "I intend to take over the riders and overthrow the elven elders. They are unworthy of their titles. I intent to remake the Dragon Riders into the powerful, feared presence they once were in Alagaësia. I intend to fill the hole within me by taking the dragon they refused to give and then, when I am finished, I shall bring up the race of man. I shall make humanity the dominant race in Alagaësia. Too long have we been fearful of Elves and Dwarves. Too long have we suffered, especially with the elven elders' lack of action to help us when we needed them."

There was a momentous pause, and Morzan found he had been holding his breath.

"Too long have we let the histories of Alagaësia be shaped by those races that came before us. Now, there is a chance for humanity to rise up and take what has been denied of us by the fearful elves: dominion of Alagaësia." Galbatorix took a step forward, he was a mere two feet away. His eyes radiated power and standing at his full height Morzan was awed by his presence. "But in order to do this, Morzan. I will need help. Help from those riders who are sympathetic to our cause. And if you join me, you shall be my right hand in the new age to come. Together, Morzan, we can shape the histories and bring forth the Age of Man. All you would have to do, is swear an oath of fealty to me."

Morzan was stunned by all the information coming at him, by the grand visions Galbatorix had laid out. Within him he felt an urge to comply, to bow down and join this man who seemed to have fate and destiny in his hands. It felt right. He hesitated for a moment, knowing that such an oath would be nigh impossible to break, but he believed too much of what Galbatorix had said. He thought those very same things, though to a lesser degree. And he did not have the vision that this man had. No he did not. And it was a magnificent vision, one that Morzan felt he would be proud to bring about.

This was his chance at greatness, at truly shaping the world. Without pause he finally dropped to one knee and moving Zar'roc horizontally he placed its other end flat on his left palm and presented it to Galbatorix. His eyes gazed downward as he raised up the sword so he could not see the great smile that had spread across Galbatorix' face. Morzan's very core told him it was the right thing to do. He would help Galbatorix achieve his grand schemes, and in the end the world he wanted would be reality.

He felt Zar'roc's familiar weight leave his hands, picked up by the man before him, and using it Galbatorix tapped him on both shoulders and instructed him words in the ancient language to bind him. An oath so strong Morzan knew to break it would mean certain death. He could feel the magic working in the words, and as he finished he felt a both a great weight and great excitement within him.

Galbatorix returned Zar'roc to him then and grabbing him by the shoulders he raised him up. Looking into his eyes, Galbatorix told him, "Now you must keep everything that has occurred between us a secret. We are still not ready to act."

Morzan nodded, "As you say, sire."

Galbatorix beamed at him, "Good. Now, I must be off. Your companion searches for you, I can hear him running and feel his presence. He shall be here soon."

He turned and walked a few paces away, then stopped and without looking at Morzan asked, "Do you think he can be persuaded to join us?"

Morzan did not know for sure. "Perhaps," he responded, "But I personally do not believe so."

"Find out his mind on the matters I have talked about. See if he would be sympathetic to us, and then if you think it right ask them to join with us. Do so with any others you think may join us, and when they agree you must try and reach me so we can arrange for the oaths to be made. We cannot have any in our ranks who are disloyal to the cause. Understood?"

"As you will."

And then Galbatorix disappeared further into the cave, taking one of the many passages that entered into the cavern. His already dark form easily disappearing into the dark embrace of the mountain deep. A moment later, Morzan could hear footsteps echoing through and his name being called out.

Turning on his heel, he walked with a steady pace towards where they had originally entered the cavern. As he did so, the light that had been shining high above extinguished himself, forcing Morzan to recreate his smaller orb light.

They met a few seconds later, with Brom rounding the corner and stopping abruptly first with sword raised then he lowered it and smiled. "You are alive!" he exclaimed rather happily. "I had thought that perhaps I was too late..."

Morzan shook his head and gave him a fake smile, "It will take more than a Shade to kill me."

Brom nodded, then his gaze snapped to Morzan, "So did you kill Durza?"

"No."

"What happened?"

"I managed to wound him mortally," Morzan managed to say as he realized he had not come up with a story of what had happened, "but I was unable to pierce his heart. He has become a spectre again, no doubt searching for a new host to inhabit and he will return soon enough."

Brom looked at him with a somewhat confused look, "And are you hurt?"

"Nothing that magic and some rest won't heal," he replied as he started to walk back to the surface, Brom quickly following.

The other rider was not entirely convinced that was the whole truth, but there was no way of knowing what had actually happened. Besides, there was no Shade and Morzan was alive. And Brom knew he would not have made any pacts with the Shade, his hatred for Durza was without equal. So he decided to accept Morzan's story.

He finally gave him a grin, "So you fought and bested a Shade again, eh? Though this time you didn't almost die."

That made Morzan remember that night, and he became irritated by that.

Brom realized his mistake and quickly apologized.

The older rider waved his hand, "It is of no consequence. The past is the past." Though he himself did not believe such words, it was more for Brom's benefit than his. He still could not and would not forgive Brom for his grave mistake, but he also did not want to alienate him. Not since his new master had asked him to try and recruit Brom, and not since Brom may yet help him to finally defeat the Shade.

So much had happened in the span of a few hours. And though he was still processing the information, one thing was clear to Morzan: the Age of Man was coming.

Leading the charge would be Galbatorix. And at his right hand side would be Morzan.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **The story after this will start to focus more on Eragon. These first few chapters are intended to set the background of the greater story to come. I expect this fic to be 100,000+ words! An epic, if you will. haha I hope you are as excited as I am.


	9. Rider and Dragon

_**DISCLAIMER: **_The Inheritance Cycle is not owned by me. Christopher Paolini owns that universe which he created.

* * *

><p><strong>Edge of Oblivion<strong>

_Chapter VIII - Rider and Dragon_

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><p>Eragon went through the first level of Rimgar as part of his morning routine. Oromis had told him he was nearly ready for the second level, and true enough after many weeks now of doing the first level he was getting quite adept at it. No longer did he have to strain every muscle and will himself to complete certain poses - though he balked at the thought that this was only the first level. A minor sweat began to form on his skin, but his breathing remained smooth and calm as he finished. Resting on his bum as he sat on the stone floor of his room, he reached out with his mind to Saphira.<p>

_Good morning, little one_, she replied to his mental touch with affection.

_Good morning!_ he replied back cheerily, _Where are you?_

She sent him images of flying over Doru Araeba and he marveled at them. She was supposedly big enough for him to ride, but he was still skeptical about it. Nevertheless, he imagined what it was like at times and wished he could be out there gliding through the vast sky with her. His mind formed quick questions: how fast could she fly? how far? could she do any aerobatics? All questions that he knew would be answered once he could fly with her.

He went to the dining hall where he ate alone - there were few people there, none whom he knew. Satisfied with his breakfast, he cast out his mind to Saphira once more. He found her again, high up above the city.

_Can you meet me out in the courtyard? _he asked.

_I will be there soon_.

About ten minutes later Eragon walked into the courtyard in front of the Citadel. The main gates of the walls loomed ahead of him, and Saphira was there waiting. She was much bigger now, already larger than Eragon himself, and still she was growing. And it was not only the physical aspect of her that he watched blossom, for so had her mind. And that what had impressed her rider even more: her quick intelligence as well as her strong personality made him love his dragon even more. It felt like it was really meant to be, and in a way it was.

_I've been waiting here for five minutes_, she stated indignantly, though in a joking tone.

Eragon smiled, _I cannot fly as you can. I am confined to walk upon the ground, and that takes longer than soaring in the air_.

She snorted at that, but did not respond. Then she spoke, _What did Oromis-elda instruct for you today?_

He shrugged and said out loud, "I have not seen him yet. I was going there next, if you wanted to come with me."

She gave a large nod of her head and they headed for the Training Hall. Although she was large, she could still fit through the massive doors of the Training Hall - just barely slipping by. She would not be able to in another week or so, but thankfully she could still do so and not get stuck. That would have been quite embarrassing.

Oromis was there, practicing the Rimgar himself. Eragon and Saphira chose not to disturb him, watching from a distance as their master performed highly complicated stretches and moves that made Eragon wince. Saphira chuckled inside her head loud enough to go through their mental link and he glared at her.

Finally, the elder finished and wiping a thin coat of sweat off of his face with the back of his hand he stood and greeted them with a smile.

"Oromis-elda," Eragon greeted him in return, bowing his head. Saphira repeated the same to Oromis through a mental link.

"Well, Eragon. Today will be quite exciting for two things: one, you shall ride Saphira at the end of the day and two: I shall teach you the next level of the Rimgar," said Oromis, his smile still fixated upon his face.

Inwardly Eragon groaned. When he had learned the first level, he was a wreck after he had gone through only a few of the moves. He imagined it would be quite the same with the next level, as they got progressively more challenging. He hoped, at least, the effects would not be as strong as that first time. He hurt for days.

A bit delayed, his mind finally processed the first thing his master had said: he would fly Saphira. The prospect was both daunting and exciting. He wanted to fly with her, as he had thought about for many weeks now and as he had been thinking just earlier. But leaving the safety of the ground and hurtling through the air at such speed and at such heights struck fear in him. Mainly the fear of falling.

Saphira snorted again as those thoughts flooded through their link, _You are not supposed to be afraid of heights! You are a rider!_

Eragon looked at her, _I may be a rider, but one who has yet to fly. So I think m fears are warranted! _he defended himself, _And just because I'm afraid doesn't mean I'll not do it... besides, you won't let me fall, right?_

She did not answer him.

_RIGHT? _he asked again, a little panicked.

She gave him an amused look, _Perhaps_.

Eragon groaned and shot her a weak glare.

Oromis proceeded to instruct him in the next hour on the moves of the second level of the Rimgar. After watching it a few times and mentally going over the specific moves and steps in his head, he proceeded to go through it himself. To his surprise, he actually performed the first few without too much difficulty. His body was still not that flexible or strong, but it was getting there and he definitely felt great improvements. Nevertheless, about halfway through he began to struggle as he had the very first time.

Panting, he dropped to the ground, unable to complete it.

Oromis smiled, "A valiant effort, Eragon. You have improved much, but there is room to grow, as always."

"Yes, master."

"Now that you know that, we shall go through the new names you've learned in the ancient language. I trust you've studied them?" His look was more of a statement than a question, but Eragon responded in the affirmative just the same as if he had genuinely asked. There was no slacking with Oromis, stern as he was, but he was fair and nice. After going through what he had learned, they finished by having Eragon perform some magic to test his energy reserves. He was tired afterwards, but elated that he was able to do much more than that first time when Oromis had asked him to levitate a stone.

It took him three hours, and Oromis had been patient with him the whole time. Coaxing him and explaining to him how to call forth the energies within.

"Like any muscle, the more you use magic the more your body will get used to it and the stronger you will get. Thus, no matter where you are you must always try and practice magic if you wish to be stronger," explained the old elf, "You will not see immediate results, but after some time you will begin to feel the strength grow within you and spells that once took a lot of energy will be no harder than jumping into the air."

Eragon nodded, intrigued.

"Of course, there is a limit to this, but until you discover it I suggest you keep practicing magic," he added pointedly.

Eragon nodded again, then asked, "Is there any other way to increase magical power or energy reserves?"

Oromis thought for a moment, and Eragon wondered if it was because he was debating what specifics to tell him and what to omit or if he was actually trying to recall an answer. "There has been a close link to physical fitness and magical ability, but that has not been established as fact as of yet. There are, of course, jewels imbued with power that you may draw upon. And there are other ways," he paused, "Ways that you are not ready to hear or understand."

"Yes, master," responded Eragon. Yearning to ask what those ways were, he restrained himself and thought of the upcoming flight with Saphira. "Master, how am I to fly Saphira? I do not have a saddle." He looked at his blue-scaled bond-mate as he spoke. She too was curious.

The elder smiled, "That is why I said at the end of the day you shall ride her. I have already commissioned for a saddle to be made for you, and it should be ready by mid-afternoon."

The next two hours were spent learning about some different herbs and their respective properties as well as where to find them. Useful knowledge for a rider who traveled around Alagaësia who may be in need of an herbal remedy. Also in that time Oromis spoke some more about healing magic, which was important should any injuries to both Eragon or Saphira arise. Talking about that, however, made Eragon a bit more apprehensive about the impending flight. It was almost as if Oromis purposefully added this part to make sure that if he got injured or Saphira did he could take care of them. Hoping it would not have to come to that, he listened intently and carefully ran it through his mind several times to commit to memory Oromis' teachings.

Another hour was spent sparring with wooden swords. Although Eragon was for all intents and purposes highly skilled with the sword, he was still not a master. And against an elf, he was no match, but Oromis slowed his movements for Eragon to make it somewhat fair. Even then the elf was still faster and stronger than Eragon, and though the elder did not press his attacks too hard, Eragon was still irritated by his inability to breach the elf's defense and the few small welts he received on his arms, shoulders, and legs.

A small boy ran in then, about the age of twelve Eragon reckoned, and he told them that the saddle was finished and would be delivered to the courtyard soon. Thanking him, Oromis turned to Eragon as the little boy left. "Well, are you ready, Eragon?"

Breathing in deeply, Eragon let out a slow breath, "I guess," he said.

Saphira's amusement through their link only made matters worse.

-**xxx**-

_Stop fidgeting! you're making ME nervous, _she scolded him lightly.

After showing Eragon the saddle and explaining its different parts, he went through the steps of putting it on Saphira. Then he undid it and told Eragon to repeat what he did and commit it to memory - "Every rider needs to know how to mount a saddle on their dragon," he explained. Then he proceeded to tell Eragon how to get on and strap himself in securely. Though the young rider already knew how to do so after having ridden on Sephyr a few times already in the past, he silently observed his master in case there was anything his father had not explicitly explained to him.

_And speaking of which, did you not ride with Sephyr already before?_ she asked, confused as to why he was so apprehensive of their soon coming flight.

Eragon gave a mental shrug, _It was different then. Besides, Sephyr was much bigger and I had no misgivings he could carry me safely, not to mention my father was always there and all I had to do was hold on to him._

Eragon could feel her roll her eyes in his mind. _Whatever_. _I hope this flight of ours will cure you of your fears. I wish for us to fly often_, she said seriously.

Her rider agreed. He wished he was not so wary, but he really did not want to be the first rider to die from falling off his dragon during a peaceful flight. Trying to get those thoughts out of his head, he looked at Oromis who he realized had stopped talking by that point. He looked at Eragon, then at Saphira, then back to Eragon.

"This flight will be most... eye-opening for you both," said Oromis rather cryptically, and Eragon did not like it at all for it made him feel uneasy again. "Now, whenever you're ready." He pointedly looked at Saphira.

She growled and then leaping forward she unfurled her wings.

_Saaphiraaaa! _he yelped in his mind as they took flight. His knuckles grasped the handles of the saddle tightly as the wind blew into his face. Another beautiful day in Vroengard allowed Saphira freedom to fly wherever she wished without worrying about being buffeted by any strong winds or being struck by lightning. Though she was not worried about that prospect, had there been lightning she was sure Eragon would not only be afraid but if they had been struck he might have been hurt. They would have to talk about that later, perhaps Oromis had suggestions.

After about a minute or two, Eragon finally opened his eyes and loosened his grip. They were flying steadily across Vroengard, away from the city. The feel of the wind blowing past his skin and through his hair was unbelievable. He felt so... free. And so very much alive. His mouth widened into a smile as he let out a whoop, which Saphira laughed at.

_So, little one. You are no longer afraid?_ she asked.

Eragon's smile widened even further, _Not anymore! We're flying Saphira! We're flying!_

_Thank you for clarifying, I wasn't aware of what this was... _she said sarcastically, and he sent her the equivalent of a mental glare. She laughed again.

_I could get used to this_, he said softly through their link. It was very peaceful up here, especially since they were cruising along nice and straight in a flat trajectory.

Saphira suddenly tucked her right wing in and twisted to the right. Eragon's stomach lurched as the world spun around. They straightened out again after spiraling three times, and the young rider felt like he was going to puke. Thankfully, they had trained straight through lunch and so he had little food left in his stomach. Still, he dry heaved a little but thankfully it was not so bad.

_Don't! Do! That! Again!_ he said adamantly.

_What?_ she responded innocently, _You mean this?_ and she proceeded to repeat the move towards the left.

Again Eragon's world spun. His head and eyes hurt and his stomach lurched.

_I hate you_, he said weakly through their link.

Saphira laughed, highly amused. _I love you too, little one_.

For the remainder of their flight she made sure to keep things simple and fly in straight lines and turn in shallow angles. She did explain to him, however, that he would have to get used to such maneuvers. _It is part of being a dragon rider. You must be as comfortable in the air as I am, so that when you are riding me it will feel as natural to you as if you were on land._

Eragon agreed with her again. _True, but I doubt I can be as comfortable flying as YOU. I could get more used to it, of course. And it would be especially useful if ever there was a battle._ Looking around he realized they were over ocean that stretched to the edges of the world. He wondered if they could one day fly across it.

_Perhaps some day, many many years from now,_ she said to him, equally as intrigued by the seemingly endless sea. Behind them, Vroengard jutted out of the sea as if the Dragon Riders had specifically summoned the island into existence just to be their home. It seemed so out of place, not to mention from up their vantage point the island looked like a giant dragon claw.

Saphira banked and turned around and they fast approached Vroengard. As they flew, Saphira told him of all the things that she saw and he was amazed at her amazing eyesight. _Here, let me show you_, she said and before he could ask her how she meant to do that he felt his consciousness completely engulfed by Saphira's. He initially resisted, as his training taught him in such situations, but since it was Saphira he forced his resistance down and allowed her to... _pull_ him in. Yes, that was the right word. He felt his consciousness drift into hers and it was quite a strange feeling.

He could feel his body and yet also hers. It was then that he realized he could see through her eyes, as well as sense through her other senses. Saphira saw in shades of blue, which he was astonished to discover, and everything looked quite beautiful. Though he also thought it seemed rather boring to have only one color, however many different shades of it there were. Still, he was amazed again by her incredible eyesight and how she perceived the world around her. He could smell many different things in the air, none the least of which were other birds nearby - some of them had flown away in fear while others flew as if they were used to dragons flying about. Through her his sense of hearing was also amplified, and he could if he concentrated hear the the crashing of the waves onto the rocks many hundreds of feet below them

They stayed like that until they were near the city, seemingly melded into one entity. Then Saphira released him and he was able to pull himself back into his mind. He felt dizzy and lightheaded, but it was not the same as he had felt earlier when she had done barrel rolls. It was a far more agreeable and pleasant sensation this time around. He was in awe at what had transpired, and he wondered if perhaps that was what Oromis had hinted at earlier. He definitely now felt much closer to Saphira, having basically been within each other's consciousness for a seemingly long time.

Affection poured through their link with each other, and he rubbed the scales on her back as they began to descend. Slowly, of course.

Oromis was where they had left him, though he was on the ground with his legs crossed. His eyes were closed and his slightly outstretched arms rested on his legs. His eyes fluttered open as Saphira landed with a thud, her legs bending as they absorbed the shock and her wings widening before she folded them back. Lowering her front legs to make it easier for Eragon to dismount, she straightened again. Humming a tune in her head the whole time.

Eragon was grinning as he bowed his head, "Master Oromis," he greeted the elf.

Oromis took a deep breath and then stood up, brushing some dust off of his robes. "I trust you had a good flight?"

"Not just good, master. Excellent," he said and he proceeded to explain to the elder what had occurred.

The elf was amused at the sudden enthusiasm Eragon had, having moments before taking flight been rather wary of the flight. It was quite the contrast.

"Yes, that happens quite often on the first flight together of a rider and his or her dragon," explained the elder, "It further cements the bond between you two. And the stronger the bond, the stronger you two shall be both together and apart."

Saphira nudged Eragon with her snout, and her rider rubbed the top of her snout in response.

_I love you, little one_, she said.

He looked directly into her sapphire-blue eyes and responded in kind, _And I love you, Saphira_.

The young rider felt so very much at peace. Everything was right in the world.

-**xxx**-

At dawn the next day, Eragon was up and about. The activities of the previous day still energized him, and he hummed a happy tune to himself as he began to do the first level of the Rimgar. Unlike before, however, as soon as he finished the first level he proceeded unto the second. By that time he began to feel the strain on his muscles already, and he knew he would not finish yet again. Still, it was better to do what he could than to not attempt it at all. Sure enough, less than a quarter through the moves he relented and sat down to catch his breath.

_Good morning again!_ he cried through his mental link towards his partner-of-mind.

He could feel her smile, at least mentally, through their link. _And a good morning to you as well, young one._

As usual, Eragon quickly went to get his breakfast and then proceeded to the Training Hall. Oromis was not there however. Instead, Arven waited for him with a soft smile on her lips. The sight of her made him think of Arya, and he suppressed the thought immediately lest he be so distracted in his training, especially for the first day with Arven. He had to make a good impression.

He bowed his head as he approached, "Atra esterní ono thelduin."

Her smile widened a tiny fraction as she responded, "Mor'ranr lífa unin hjarta onr."

He completed it by saying, "Un du evarínya ono varda."

She inclined her head, "You need not be so formal, Eragon."

Nodding, he replied, "Very well, Arven-elda. However, this being the first time I will train with you I thought it would be more appropriate to begin with that."

The elf observed him for a moment and then she let out a "hmmm" sound before saying, "You show great promise, Eragon. As your father before you."

Eragon thanked her, "You are kind with your praise, Arven-elda. I can only hope to achieve as much as my father."

"You may yet surpass him," she whispered, almost too softly for Eragon to not hear it. He did not know what to say so he kept silent. _No pressure at all_... he thought to himself.

She shook her head as if waking up from a dream and her eyes widened before settling onto Eragon again, "Now, let us begin. Oromis informed me that you are studying a book on names in the ancient language. Now let us hear what you have learned so far and see if we can ensure you remember not only the words but how to pronounce them properly."

"Where is Oromis-elda?" he asked curiously.

"Busy," was all the elder said in response.

Again he recited the names in the ancient language that he was learning and it went on for over an hour before he had to perform some magic simple magic drills. Then Arven tested his swordsmanship. Again Eragon could not best an elf, but he did well considering. Arven then asked Eragon something he had not done in a while: to fight using weapons other than the sword.

"It is important to know how to fight with other weapons. Should you ever lose yours or leave it behind somewhere and you needed to fight, it is important to learn other arts of war. I know you are good with a bow, so let us begin with that," she said. Along one of the racks were many quivers filled with arrows as well as an assortment of bows. His bow in particular was nice, but these were of excellent make and he could feel the power in them as he tested each one. Finding one that suited him, he followed Arven down the Hall to where there were cloth dummies filled with hay.

They spent the next half hour with Eragon shooting at the targets. He was an excellent marksman thanks to his many hunts, and the majority of his arrows were on target. The only times he missed were when Arven made things challenging by making him move as he drew the bow or by having him shoot two arrows at a time.

The next hour was devoted to spear and pike handling, which Eragon found to be quite difficult. He was not strong enough to handle the pike for long periods, and the spear while not as heavy was still more cumbersome than he was accustomed to. Brom had tried to teach him a few things about these other weapons, but it was the bare minimum. Arven told him to try to practice when he could find the time so that he would not be confined to merely a sword and bow. Daggers came next, and this was tricky since they were shorter and smaller, and required far more dexterity than Eragon currently possessed. They also tried axes, which proved easier than the others thanks to its similarity to blade-wielding, though they were also somewhat different. Enough so that it was still quite challenging.

Finally, as their last lesson, Arven tried to teach him how to properly throw a spear. She had demonstrated by throwing one perfectly through the chest of one of the dummies from a few dozen feet away. Upon trying himself from that distance, he could not even get the spear to fly halfway before it clattered to the ground. A few pointers later, and he managed to get it a little farther, but still not even halfway to the dummy.

Eragon rolled his right shoulder several times, loosening it as it had started to feel sore and tight from the throwing.

"It will come in time. You merely need to be stronger," she reassured him when he let out a frustrated sigh. On his last attempt he managed to get it at least halfway before it clattered to the ground.

Upon reviewing what they went over, he and Arven parted ways.

Walking outside, he felt Saphira's presence nudge at his mind. _How are you, little one?_

_Tired_, he grumbled, _Arven taught me today. We did some new things_.

Saphira was curious, _Oh? Like what?_

He proceeded to share with her what he had done for the last few hours. And as he did so, she flew overhead and landed close by him. Walking up to her, he hugged her upper neck, her jaw coming over his left shoulder and she nestled a bit against him. Then he let go and asked her what she did all day.

_Oh, not much. I flew around here and there, but for the most part I was in the forest napping_, she said with a bored voice. _I cannot wait until I can train myself_.

Eragon made a note to ask Oromis when he returned when Saphira would train with Glaedr. He wondered what the dragon looked like, for he had never seen him. Though he knew he was golden-scaled from what his father had told him.

_Have you seen Glaedr around at all?_ he wondered, thinking that she must have seen him what with all her flying.

_Yes, but only from a distance. He seems to have a knack of hiding where he cannot be seen_, she responded.

Eragon grinned, _Isn't that the point of hiding? Not to be seen? Why would you want to hide where you could be seen?_

_Bah!_ she scowled, _You know what I mean_.

Later that night, as he drifted off into sleep, his thoughts turned to Arya. He wondered what she was doing, where she was, and if she was anywhere he was going to be in the near future. And as he dreamed, she became the focus of unconscious mind.

-**xxx**-

Stretching, Eragon yawned as he awoke. He had had a good dream, though he could not quite remember what it was about. Rolling out of bed, he went through his usual morning routine. As he entered the Training Hall, he noticed that Arven was not alone. Another woman, her back to him, was talking to her. She looked rather familiar to Eragon as he walked up to them.

Turning around, he realized it was his mother, Selena.

"Oh Eragon! You never visit the house anymore! Have you forgotten about us?" she said in pretend dismay, though he could tell she _was_ a little hurt.

Sheepishly, he grinned at her and said, "Sorry, mother. I've been... distracted with my training lately."

She hugged him tightly for a few long seconds before letting him go and stepping back to take a look at him. "You are filling out now. You are bigger than I remember, and taller too!" she exclaimed with a smile of delight. "Elder Arven has agreed to let you spend the day with me, seeing as how you have not been able to speak with me for quite some time.

Eragon looked to Arven, who inclined her head, "Family is important, Eragon. You must not forget that." She then bade them a good day and said, "May the stars watch over you," before she left.

His mother tidied up his hair, which had grown a bit longer and unruly and then proceeded to drown him in a hug once again. He did feel very guilty for not having passed by the house at all throughout his training. He vowed from then on to regularly visit, as he should have done since the beginning.

Later, they were strolling around outside the Citadel and found themselves walking along the parapets of the high stone walls that surrounded the Citadel in a crescent shape. The city of Doru Araeba stretched out before them, its many buildings like jagged rocks protruding from the ground.

"So how are you, dear?" asked Selena as she leaned against the parapet.

Eragon looked around, "Well, mother."

"And your training?"

"It's tough... but I like it. And I am doing fine according to my masters," he answered, shifting to turn to her. "And you, mother? How are you?"

She let loose a long sigh, "Tired, Eragon. And lonely. Both you and your father are constantly away."

Eragon had wondered about that. He had not seen his father for some time. His father usually stopped by every now and then to check on him, but it had been about a week since he had. He wondered what he was up to.

"I'm sorry I've neglected you, mother. I... I will do better," he assured her as reached over and pulled her into a one-armed hug.

There were tears in her eyes, and he felt terrible that he should be the cause of them. How could he have forgotten someone so important to him? _Everything that has happened has caught me up in a whirlwind so I have been very distracted, _he told himself_._ Still, he did not like that he had so easily let his mother slip from his mind. She deserved more than that.

"And how is your dragon, Eragon?" she asked.

"Saphira? She is doing great. If you would like to meet her... well, I suppose you _should_ meet her. You are my mother after all." With that he called out to his mind-bonded-other-half.

_I come_, she said simply.

With a whooshing of wings she flew over them, much to the delight of his mother. Her blue scales glittering in the sun as she executed a graceful spin and then landed with a slight thud as her wings caught the air to break herself. She had landed on the wall a few feet away, her forelegs up on the parapet as her claws gripped the sturdy stone. He approached her, closely followed by his mother who looked at Saphira with wonder.

"She is magnificent!" Selena exclaimed honestly.

Saphira's chest rumbled at the praise as her mind reached out to her. As was natural for any skilled in the art of mental defense, she recoiled at first, but then allowed Saphira a connection to her mind. _Well met, Selena, mother of my rider. I thank you for your praises, you are too kind_.

Selena smiled and said aloud, "Well met, Saphira."

The blue dragon turned to Eragon then and said, _I too am at a loss as to why we did not visit your mother sooner. We are both at fault in this, and I will remind you when I can to visit her if we have the_ _opportunity_.

Eragon was quick to agree to that. They spoke for a few more minutes before promising his mother that they would see her again soon. With that, Selena bade him one last goodbye with another tight hug before she left them at the top of the walls.

Looking down, they watched as she worked her way towards their house, disappearing from view as she rounded a corner. They stood in silence for several minutes afterwards, before Eragon stirred and looked up at Saphira with a grin.

_How about we fly around for a while and then watch the sunset... from the sky_, he suggested.

Saphira liked the idea. So he went to get her saddle and, meeting up with her down in the courtyard, he put it on. Satisfied that it was secure, he climbed up onto her back and strapped himself in. They were in the air a moment later, and again the feeling of total freedom engulfed Eragon just as the wind wrapped around and blew against his body.

They flew around for a while, before Saphira got very tired, still not used to extended flights with her rider on her back. Deciding to land somewhere in the mountains of Vroengard so that they could still watch the sunset from a higher elevation, Saphira found a good-sized plateau that would suit them perfectly. They spent the next few hours watching as the sun slowly set, content to be with each other. They spoke for a while, but as the sun dipped low on the edge of the world they were wrapped in silence. Both rider and dragon needing no words as they enjoyed each other's presence.

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><p><strong>AN: **As always I appreciate your reviews. They never fail to encourage me to write more and also faster. :) It further makes me feel good inside knowing how my writing has positively affected others. Thank you! Atra du evarínya ono varda.


	10. Friendship

_**DISCLAIMER: **_The Inheritance Cycle is not owned by me. Christopher Paolini owns that universe which he created.

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><p><strong>Edge of Oblivion<strong>

_Chapter IX - Friendship_

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><p>Grunting from the effort, Eragon's legs buckled and he fell onto his butt. The second level of the Rimgar still troubled him, but he had been making steady progress. Over the last few days he had made steady progress so that he was able to get through all of level one relatively simply and halfway through the second. Arven had trained him again the day after his mother had visited, and the day after that Oromis had returned. When he had asked about Glaedr, Oromis said that Saphira would begin training with him soon.<p>

"And today, you will finally meet Glaedr," said Oromis as he walked through the many corridors of the Citadel. He continued to walk up many flights of stairs, so much so that Eragon was beginning to tire from the exertion. Finally reaching the floor they wanted, Oromis walked purposefully onwards. The elder led him through large doors big enough for Sephyr and they opened into a cavernous hold that was wide open on one end to the sky. The opening was so massive Eragon figured that five dragons of Sephyr's size could all fly in at the same time and not bump into each other.

He marveled at what it took to build such a grand room. Perhaps the dwarves had indeed helped to build the city. It certainly seemed like it.

"This, is the first level of the dragon hold of Doru Araeba. There are two more above this. Each can house up to twenty full-grown dragons. Though of course there has never been that many dragons, the Citadel was built in case such a situation were to arise," explained the elder rider, "Better to have too much space than too little."

Eragon was still taking it all in as the elder continued, "In any case, it is also easier to fly out from here as we are already at a good height. The holds are rarely used now, for we do not have the manpower to completely run the Citadel as it was meant to be run - but it is a useful space and allows riders an easy way to come and go from the Citadel without too many prying eyes watching." He paused to let Eragon continue to look around, his mind still baffled by the size of it all. "You may call Saphira to you now."

A short time elapsed before the rushing sound of her flight echoed throughout the great hold. She landed nearby and moved closer, lowering her head and greeting Oromis respectfully.

Then, as the seconds stretched on in silence, Eragon heard him. The heavy thudding of wings echoed like a slow drum beat, if that drum were several dozen feet in diamater and were being beaten upon by a giant.

_Thud. Thud. Thud._

Slow and steady were the beating of his wings as he slowly came into view. The sun glinted off his golden scales and the sight dazzled both Eragon and Saphira as they stared wide-eyed and in awe at the great dragon before them. His golden hue was slightly diminished as he entered the shadow of the hold, but his massive girth was still something to behold. Here was an elder dragon in all his glory, and Eragon wondered how one could fight against something so strong. With a heavy thud Glaedr landed upon the stone floor, shaking the hold with his weight.

He was as large as a hill, definitely bigger than Sephyr. He could have been twice Sephyr's size, or at least almost.

He turned his massive head, craning his neck, and eyed them both with one large golden eye.

He growled lightly as he extended his mind towards them and both were overwhelmed at the titanic size of his consciousness.

_Greetings, hatchlings. I am Glaedr_. His voice boomed in their heads with a heavy and commanding tone. Oromis watched their faces with a barely hidden look of amusement.

Eragon was the first to speak among the two young ones present, _Greetings, Glaedr-elda. My name is-_ but he did not finish as the golden dragon interrupted him.

_Eragon. _The name was said simply. Then Glaedr said, _Your name is a great one, youngling. You have much to live up to._

The young rider acknowledged that fact for what seemed like the hundredth time. Everyone in one way or another seems to think he is destined to be as legendary as the rider who he was named after. He did not voice his concerns over such high expectations, however. At least not in front of his masters.

_I only strive to perform my duties and responsibilities as a rider to the best of my abilities_, he replied truthfully.

Glaedr let loose a short laugh, _As you should, hatchling._

Saphira still had not spoken at that point, and Eragon could feel she was still awe-struck by the appearance of the elder dragon. He nudged her with his mind, and she finally spoke.

_It is an honor to finally meet you, Glaedr-elda. I look forward to learning much from you_. Her blue eyes never left his golden ones.

_And it is good to meet you at last, Saphira. I hope that you shall be as magnificent as my partner-of-mind tells me you are_, said Glaedr. His booming voice really made one listen to what he had to say, Eragon realized.

The young rider felt... Saphira blush? He could not say for sure, but there was a strange emotion there but thought nothing more of it as Glaedr continued to speak.

_From this day forth, when I am able, I will train you Saphira. And from now on you must also share with each other what each has learned from their respective masters. You must learn to be one together, and each must have knowledge of the other, is this understood?_ he asked.

They both spoke in the affirmative.

Glaedr grunted, _Good. And on any random day we choose we may test you to see what you have learned apart as well as from each other._ Turning to Saphira the golden dragon said, _Now, let us see how you fly, hatchling._

Less than two minutes later, both dragons had flown away from the hold, and as Eragon watched them he could not help but see how tiny Saphira looked compared to the massive Glaedr. He turned to his master and expressed his wonder at his dragon, and Oromis laughed lightly. Elven laughter sounded so rich and full of life, it made Eragon feel at ease and happier.

Still smiling, Oromis asked him, "Have you ever seen Umaroth, elder Vrael's dragon?"

Eragon quickly shook his head.

"I guessed as much," said Oromis, "The white dragon does not like the attention his appearance creates. He stays somewhere in the mountains of Vroengard, sometimes with Vrael even..." he trailed off, and then realizing he had not said what he had wanted to say he continued, "In any case, Umaroth is even larger than Glaedr. If you can imagine that."

Indeed Eragon found it hard to believe any dragon could be larger, though if there was any bigger dragon it _would_ be Vrael's. He was the oldest of all the living riders after all, and thus Umaroth was the eldest of the elder dragons still alive. He wondered how the white dragon looked in the sunlight, or if it was difficult for him to hide himself at night. Then he realized that, being so massive and powerful, Umaroth need not hide from anything. Creatures hid from _him_.

Deciding that it was best to go on with their training at the hold instead of walking all the way down to the Training Hall, Oromis began to teach him a few more new words in the ancient language.

-**xxx**-

Two months passed and they were in the winter season. Since Vroengard was an island, the warmth of the sea protected them from the worst of the chills, but the temperature was still several degrees cooler than usual. Up in the clouds it was much colder still. And that was where Eragon could be found as he and Saphira flew parallel to a northeasterly wind that brought the cold from the northernmost regions of Alagaësia. He shivered as a blast of icy wind buffeted them, and Saphira struggled against the stronger push of the air.

_Why are we doing this again?_ she snapped, tired from her exertion. She had grown even bigger, her height from the ground to the top of her back more than double Eragon already. Her entire body was also thicker with strong muscles, though she was according to Glaedr thinner than other dragons. She would need to use more of her speed, agility, and cunning than pure brute strength. One thing was clear though: she was a natural flier. She took to the air with a grace and ease that impressed even Glaedr, who had lived long enough to see many dragons.

_Oromis said we must learn to ride in all conditions_, Eragon reminded her as he gritted his teeth to stop them from chattering. They had been up their for what seemed like hours, though realistically probably only barely over an hour.

She growled, her wings straining to keep them flying. If she were to fly in these conditions, she would not only have to get used to them she would also need to get bigger and stronger. Glaedr, with his size and weight, could have easily weathered the high winds that buffeted her so. Saphira did her best, however.

_How much longer must we stay up here?_ she asked as she dipped lower to escape the wrath of the ever increasingly stronger winds high above.

Eragon was not sure, but imagined that they would not have to for too much longer. _He would call us if we were to return, or unless one of us was hurt of course_.

As if hearing them, their master's mind touched theirs and bade them to return.

Relief washed through their link from Saphira as she descended rapidly. The winds were weaker down below, and she took comfort in their relative peacefulness. Angling towards the hold above the Citadel she landed before Oromis and Glaedr, both of whom eyed them impassively.

Eragon rubbed her back before he dismounted, sending a quick thanks to her through their link. _You did well, Saphira_.

_Thank you._ She lay down then, her body aching from her earlier exertions.

"How did it go?" asked Oromis.

"Well enough, though the winds high above were almost too strong for Saphira to overcome. We had to drop to lower elevations every now and then to catch our breath," he looked to his partner-of-mind and smiled proudly.

Oromis gave a thoughtful nod, "The environment is a tricky thing... but it is ever important to be able to adapt to your surroundings. Many a rider have been injured due to their inexperience in fighting in different weather extremes, or even while merely traveling."

Glaedr lowered his head closer to Eragon and Saphira and his voice sounded low and heavy, _Indeed. Oromis and I were once caught in a fierce storm on our way back to Vroengard. Off the coast we battled against it, and even in the lower elevations the winds were powerful. One gust nearly sent me into a cliff, but thankfully we survived._

"In this instance, I advise you to rest before undertaking such efforts again. It would not do to try to battle the elements whilst you are still tired from a previous encounter," added Oromis, "Though when you are even larger and stronger, Saphira, you will have to learn to be able to work hard even through exhaustion. Eragon's life may depend on it."

Oromis dismissed them from training after that, leaping up his dragon's leg and then onto Glaedr's back with a grace and ease that only elves could have shown. Heaving his bulk into the air Glaedr let loose a low roar of farewell before he and his rider disappeared out the opening of the hold. Left to watch were the young rider and his blue dragon, both tired and thankful that the hold was rather warm even though it was open to the elements. Eragon suspected magic probably kept the temperature at a comfortable level.

"I feel like taking a nap," whispered Eragon as he sat down next to Saphira. "And I don't think I'll make it to my room. I will rest here, I think."

She looked at him and opened up one of her wings so that he could sidle up closer to her. _Then rest__, little one._

He murmured a thanks, already halfway asleep.

-**xxx**-

He awoke to find that they were not alone in the hold. About fifty meters away was a red dragon, thicker than Saphira as corded muscles bulged from its body but not as tall. His red eyes watched them closely. Next to him was his rider, the young man who had been the other new rider. Murtagh was his name, remembered Eragon.

Saphira had awoken at that point as Eragon's mind had begun to be active again and he was moving from beside her. She turned to see what he was observing and saw the red dragon and rider across from them.

Murtagh was rubbing his dragon's flank as they both observed the other rider and dragon tandem.

"Hello Murtagh," Eragon spoke out to acknowledge him.

The other rider raised a hand in greeting, "Greetings, Eragon."

The blue rider walked closer, his eyes moving between Murtagh and his dragon. He stopped a few feet away.

"Your dragon looks well," he stated, unsure of what else to say.

Murtagh nodded as he continued to scratch his dragon's red flank, "Thorn has grown since we last saw each other... and yours the same."

Eragon grinned slightly, "A pleasure to meet you formally, Thorn. My dragon's name is Saphira, and yes they have both grown considerably since last we met."

Thorn's mind briefly touched his, _It is good to meet you as well, Eragon._

There was a somewhat awkward silence before Eragon spoke again, "What brings you to the hold?"

The red rider looked out of the hold, through the opening, as he responded, "We were flying around and saw this place," he waved his hand around, "and so we wished to see the hold. This is the first time we have been here."

A little surprised at that, he replied, "I only learned of this place in the past two months myself," he said, "It's larger than I would have thought it possible to build anything. I think the dwarves may have helped to build it."

It was Murtagh who smiled this time, his eyes gray eyes looking about, "This was no ordinary construction. There was a vast amount of magic involved, for sure. Thorn and I think it to be the work of dragons and their riders."

His view had merit, Eragon realized. Dragon magic was far more powerful than any individual being could ever possess, a pity though they could not wield it at will. Though he also realized how dangerous that would have been, especially for the wild dragons. Saphira agreed, though she too wished she could control magic as easily as other beings could.

_Magic subject to your feelings and emotions though,_ Eragon told her, _Seems more natural... purer even._

Murtagh spoke first this time, ending the silence that had settled once more upon them. "We saw you battling the strong winds at the ceiling of the world," he sounded a little impressed, "I have to say, Saphira is an excellent flier."

Eragon smiled as he looked at his bond-partner, "She is. Our masters tell us she is one of the best they have seen in many years." Then a thought occurred to Eragon, "How goes your training? Who are your masters?"

For the briefest moment Eragon thought he saw Murtagh's face darken and a scowl begin to form, before it disappeared as soon as it had passed over his face. He wore a neutral expression, and his eyes as always seemed guarded. "My father and his dragon, Paine, are our masters. And our training... is sufficient."

Realizing the topic was uncomfortable for Murtagh, he changed the subject to the first thing that came to mind: "Would you spar with me?" He was quite surprised that the words had left his mouth, but he did not take them back and merely waited for the other young rider to speak. He seemed to be debating within himself, perhaps with Thorn, and then he gave a small nod.

"Sure," and as he said that he took out a wooden sword from his scabbard. Eragon drew his - All novice riders had to carry with them their wooden swords wherever they went until they were granted actual blades.

They moved a little ways from their respective dragons so as to have enough room to maneuver around. Loosening their muscles, they both readied themselves and when they were finished they moved close and tapped their swords against each other once to signal the beginning of the sparring match. None wished to be the first to strike, so they moved and circled each other, watching and waiting. Eragon could tell from the way he held himself and from how he balanced upon his feet that Murtagh was a skilled warrior, and he wondered just how skilled.

It was Murtagh who took the first leap forward and attacked, his movements strong and smooth. Eragon parried him well enough and started his counter-attack. Murtagh seemed somewhat surprised as they danced back and forth, neither giving up much ground. They continued to spar for a while, and after what felt like an hour or so they still had not touched each other. They were as even as could be in terms of skill with the sword. Murtagh was impressed, and so was Eragon. They continued to circle and then Eragon launched into a complicated series of blows as he tried to attack from the oddest angles to try and surprise Murtagh, to no avail.

Murtagh replied in kind, and he too failed at landing a single hit upon Eragon. Both of them were covered with sweat and their muscles yearned to rest, but thoroughly enjoying the sparring all the same. Finally, Eragon lowered his sword and inclined his head with a newfound respect, "You are a great swordsman."

"Right back at you," the red rider replied with a grin, "I haven't fought that hard without landing a single blow in a long time."

"Perhaps," Eragon said slowly, "Perhaps we can continue to spar? It would be beneficial for both of us I think." _Not to mention we would be able to get to know each other better_, he added in his thoughts. He liked Murtagh, and he yearned to have a friend who he could talk to and have adventures with. _Other than you, of course_, he thought towards his partner-of-mind who had let him feel the small hurt that his words had brought to her. It quickly passed as she felt happy with his added words.

Murtagh sheathed his sword and scratched the side of his head, "We'll see. It will depend upon our training schedules... but I think it would be a good idea." He turned sharply to look outside, then he moved quickly to mount Thorn. "I must go. It was good to see you, Eragon, and may we cross paths soon."

Eragon finally sheathed his own sword as he watched them leave. Saphira's breath fell damp and heavy upon his head as her head hovered over his, he eyes also watching the retreating form of the red dragon and rider. Without turning he asked her, _What do you think of them?_

Saphira was not sure, _I think that Murtagh seems nice enough. Thorn seems wary of us, but I believe it was wise to seek to continue sparring with him. Both your skills were even in terms of fighting sticks,_ she said, _not to mention it would be good of you to have a friend, as you have said._

_I only hope__ he feels the same_, he thought.

-**xxx**-

Not until about three days later did they manage to see each other again. And they began at first with some small talk, though they were still not too comfortable with each other enough to openly speak. They sparred again, and as was the case the first time they were evenly matched. Too evenly matched.

After their sparring session, they sat across from each other with their respective dragons behind them. Eragon sat cross-legged, elbows on his legs while Murtagh sat with his legs to his left side, his left knee bent as he propped up the rest of his body with his right arm. For whatever reason, Eragon began to talk about the first time he went hunting. The thrill of it all and the first time he had killed a living thing and then eaten it - he conveyed that he felt as if he had already reached manhood at that point for it proved he could provide for himself.

Murtagh's eyes had alighted as he spoke, and he responded in kind but talking about his first time hunting as well. They proceeded to exchange stories of their hunts at that point, though Eragon realized he had gone out to hunt far more than Murtagh had. He knew it was because, unlike Murtagh, he had been able to go out into Alagaësia with his father and thus he was able to hunt the plentiful game in the Spine. The red rider, however, had been confined to Vroengard for all his life and though there was game to be hunted, they were not as bountiful or as large.

Still, it was nice to know they shared something in common besides their skill with a sword. They talked about their common love for hunting and of surviving out in the wild on their own for hours it seemed, and of the benefits of certain hunting styles as well as weapon types. Eragon told him of how the Spine was like and Murtagh imagined in his mind what it was like as he described it to him.

"I wish to go some day," he whispered, "Maybe we can hunt together." Those last few words were said so quietly Eragon barely heard them.

The blue rider saw that his eyes seemed to have a far away look then, and he noticed that the red rider's body had stiffened as if something troubled him. Unable to place what it was and unwilling to broach the subject, Eragon continued to talk of one particular hunt where a boar managed to nearly gore him as it surprisingly emerged from some tall grass, leaving a scar four inches long across his thigh. Thankfully, Eragon had his dagger in hand and quickly stabbed at the top of the boar's neck with one swift stroke that killed it instantly as the dagger severed its spine.

Murtagh grinned though it did not quite reach his eyes, "This has me excited to see this Spine and test myself in its wilderness. Please, let's speak no more of this for now else I end up going there tonight."

Changing the subject again, they began to talk about the Hatching Ceremony all those months ago.

"What were you thinking at the time?" asked Eragon, "How did you feel? I know that I was extremely nervous and I feared that a dragon would not hatch for me... and thankfully one did," he turned and smiled at Saphira. She sent a warm feeling through their link in response.

"I too was afraid of being rejected, that I would not be deemed worthy. But all my life," he hesitated, "All my life I have been told to be a rider. I had no choice in the matter, and my father impressed upon me the fact that I would one day become one. So while I did fear rejection, a part of me felt that a dragon would indeed hatch for me and so I would not say I worried as much as you had." This time he looked at Thorn after he spoke and Eragon had no doubts that he was replying much in the same fashion as Saphira had. "Still, I felt relief when Thorn hatched. I fear what my father would have done had I been rejected." His eyes widened as he realized he had spoken too much of his mind, and Eragon was quick to note that but he did not pursue it.

An uneasy silence fell, before Murtagh stood up and stretched. "I must go now. I... enjoyed speaking with you, Eragon. Let us try to meet again soon." He walked over and stretched out his hand, which Eragon took.

_He's a complicated one, isn't he? _he thought towards Saphira, who let a low rumble emanate from her chest.

_Most beings on two-legs are,_ she offered, _But I agree. There is far more to him than he lets on... and I wonder how his father treats him. He seems fearful of displeasing him_.

Eragon shrugged, _I would be afraid of disappointing my father as well..._

_But I doubt your fear is the same as his, and his father is not yours, _Saphira pointed out.

_True_. He thought for a moment, _But it is best not to push him, I think. He will open up to me on his own._

Saphira swiveled her head and a large blue eye gazed into his own brown ones._And if he does, what will you do?_

Without hesitating he replied, _I would help him._

Satisfied with his answer, she stood on all fours and extended to her full height as she stretched. _I am hungry, so I must hunt. You should feed yourself, I can feel your hunger through our link_.

Eragon smiled, _Always look it for me, Saphira. Even when I'm not in imminent danger._

_Always_, she said firmly before leaping into the air and flying out of the opening of the hold and into the darkening skies.

Descending the many steps to the level where the dining hall was, he saw that there were more people there. A few riders were presently eating, and one of them he realized was the rider Kristoff who he had sat next to in Irelia for the Emperor's birthday. He was tall, at a little over six feet, with a lean but muscular physique. He had short black hair that spiked up near the front and thick black eyebrows that hung over his silver eyes. He too was a senior rider, slightly older than Brom. His mouth spread into a wide smile as he saw Eragon enter and he beckoned for the young rider to sit with him

Two other riders were at his table and he was quickly introduced to them: Glaerun and Hirador. Glaerun was an elf with dark green eyes and a tattooed face of different symbols in dark green ink, among the designs were different sized stars. He did not show any emotions at meeting him, as most elves were won't to do. Hirador was a gruff human, a thick curly beard made him look almost dwarven except he was as tall as Eragon. His arms were thick and his chest and shoulders broad, and his forearms were quite hairy. He had friendly light blue eyes and a wide smile of his own as he met Eragon, and a booming voice similar to Glaedr's, but of course not as deep or as powerful in tone.

Kristoff clasped his hand in a firm grip as he finished inroducing Eragon to the others. "Well, Eragon. It is nice to see you are one of us now. How goes your training?"

"It goes well, Kristoff-elda."

"Oromis treating you right, eh?" Hirador asked, "The old elf is quite the teacher, so I hear."

Eragon confirmed as much.

"Pity I didn't have him as my own master when I trained, but my own master was more than exceptional in his own right. Though he did not care as much as Oromis does about his students," Hirador continued as he chuckled, brushing off some food that had gotten stuck in his thick beard.

Glaerun shot a glance at Hirador and his eyes narrowed, "Master Roppen is a most excellent teacher, and you should not disrespect him so."

Hirador reached a hand over and grabbed the elf's shoulder, "Relax, Glaerun! I meant no offense. I merely wished to convey my observations of our master's difference in teaching style with regards to Oromis."

The elf said nothing, but he looked away seemingly satisfied as the other rider let go of his shoulder.

The three senior riders proceeded to speak about things that were happening in the Empire and Alagaësia in general. Eragon did not interrupt, merely glad of the company for dinner as well as the knowledge he was gaining of current events. Apparently the Emperor was ill, though he was expected to recover fully. Also, there were apparently more Urgal raids than usual and the riders would have to confront them about it soon. They then spoke of the Shade and how its activities seemingly had stopped recently. Though Eragon was vaguely aware that there was some kind of evil being walking around the Empire he did not know until then that it was a Shade.

From what he had heard and read of Shades, they were twisted creatures who loved pain and destruction. He shivered involuntarily at the thought that one was running rampant throughout Alagaësia. It was said that rivers of blood flowed where a Shade passed. He began to wonder why it suddenly stopped, and thought that maybe it had been destroyed.

After a time Glaerun and Hirador excused themselves as they went to retire, stating that they felt weary. Eragon was about to do the same until Kristoff turned to him and said, "Come, let us walk."

Having nothing better to do and intrigued by what the senior rider had to say, he obliged and followed him through the corridors of the Citadel. They emerged out into the cold night, the chilling wind blowing from the north. Clouds obscured the sky, and a faint glow behind one area was the only hint of the moon's presence. They walked in silence the whole time, with Eragon's thoughts turning to why exactly Kristoff had wished to be accompanied. He held his tongue however, knowing that there was a purpose to this walk of theirs.

Finally, as they were crossing the courtyard the senior rider finally broke his silence, "Would you like to see her, Eragon?" he asked with a smile stopping mid stride as he turned to face the young man.

Confused by the question, he replied, "I don't think I understand, Kristoff-elda.."

"The elf, Eragon. The elf... what was her name? Ah, yes... Arya."

The very mention of the name made his heart skip a beat.

Kristoff's smile grew and his eyes gleamed with amusement, "I remember you had your eyes on her the entire feast the night of the Emperor's birthday. It was quite... amusing. I could see then that you like her and I thought perhaps I can help you to at least to see her again."

A hot flush rushed to his cheeks as his gaze drifted down to the ground in embarrassment. He remembered that night well. At first he was hesitant to speak, afraid of what he might say. A part of him thought this was too good to be true. He had been thinking of her a lot lately, and would relish the opportunity to see her again. Especially now as a rider.

"Why? How..?" he struggled to say.

Kristoff wrapped his arm around his shoulder and brought him in close in a brotherly manner, "The how? Well you just let me handle that. I will tell you when I am ready. As for why... let's just say that as a man who has yet to find love, I find it my quest to help those around me find it. For in doing so I believe that perchance the fates would smile upon me and grant me that which I seek... aaand I happen to like you and your family." He let go of the young rider and stepped away, though he clapped him on the shoulder. "So what is your answer, Eragon Bromsson?"

"Yes! That would be... most appreciated if you could make it happen." There was no hesitation in his reply and that was not lost on the senior rider.

"A word of caution though: As I have said before, dealing with elves is quite different and oft times difficult..." Bidding him goodbye, Kristoff left him standing practically dumbstruck over what happened the last few minutes.

He felt a great amusement flow through his link with Saphira and in the back of his mind could hear her stifling a full-blown laugh. _Oh, Eragon_, she said. He paid no attention to her however as his imagination began to run through multiple scenarios of his seeing Arya again. He would spend the rest of the night, as he lay in bed, thinking of that moment.

-**xxx**-

Saphira watched as Eragon managed to complete the second level of the Rimgar. He had kept at it, undeterred by his consistent inability to finish because he was seeing small results with each passing day. His muscles had strained and protested, but his will pulled him through in the end and he breathed a sigh of relief. Happiness coursed through him, and Saphira let him know she was impressed.

_Your ability to stretch has improved, young one. All shall know of your great flexibility! They shall call you, Eragon the Limber! And all shall tremble before your ability to touch your toes!_ said the blue-scaled dragonness, her words dripping with sarcasm.

_Don't be ridiculous, _Eragon glared at her as best he could though he grimaced at the name. He would not like to be called Eragon the Limber. Not a chance.

Oromis had gone again, to where and for what purpose he did not know. Arven had given him the day off for she also had some matters to attend to and would be unable to train him. Thus he was left to his own devices - and Saphira, of course. Up in the dragon hold, Eragon decided was the best place to be. Not to mention he was meeting Murtagh there.

Sure enough, the flapping of wings and a heavy thud later announced the arrival of Murtagh and Thorn. They looked slightly worse for wear, and Eragon questioningly looked at him.

Murtagh shook his head, "I just had difficulty sleeping last night," he explained hastily, "And Thorn was up with me to try and help me to rest." Eragon did not quite buy it, but he did not press the matter.

They sparred again, but Eragon noticed he was winning slightly and he wondered if it was because Murtagh was distracted. Lowering his sword, he finally asked what was wrong.

"Nothing!" he said with irritation as he launched himself at Eragon again, making him jump back as he whipped his sword up to defend himself from the sudden onslaught. Though Murtagh's face held no emotion, his eyes shone with such anger that Eragon wondered what could have pissed him off so much.

Tiring, Murtagh finally lowered his sword and then sheathed it. His breathing was fast and shallow as he wiped a hand down his face in frustration as well as to get the sweat away from his eyes. He sat down beside Thorn, his back leaning against his dragon, and said nothing as Eragon followed suit and sat next to Saphira.

_You should ask him again_, she prodded him.

Eragon di_s_agreed_. No, I shall wait until he is ready to speak with me._ She made no response to that as they watched Murtagh seemingly wrestling with something that troubled him.

Eventually, Eragon could no longer wait as his patience ran thin: "Murtagh," and as he said the name the rider's gaze fixated upon him sharply, "Tell me what bothers you."

He frowned, "Why? It is of no consequence to you."

"Because I would like to help if I can," offered the blue rider with as much honesty as he could convey.

Murtagh studied him for a while, his eyes never leaving Eragon until he felt as if they were in some kind of staring match. Then Murtagh broke the contact and looked away, "You cannot help me," he spoke softly.

"You're right," and Murtagh snapped his gaze back at Eragon as he said those words, "I cannot help you because I do not know what troubles you. If you would only tell me, Murtagh, I would gladly help you."

"Do not worry about it."

"I am trying not to, but it's hard to ignore when whatever it is... it distracts you so."

Murtagh raised his hands in the air and shrugged his shoulders, "What do you want from me, Eragon? I do not like to share my thoughts, let the matter rest!" Thorn looked at Eragon with sad eyes as his rider spoke.

"What do I want, Murtagh? I want to be your friend... I would like us to be friends, is that too much to ask?" came the reply as he got annoyed with how Murtagh was acting. This was stupid to be arguing when he was in such a state, but it could not be helped.

The red dragon turned to look at Murtagh, obviously saying something to him as the rider grimaced slightly then finally nodded. He sighed, "Look, Eragon. I... I am not comfortable sharing my troubles with you, not yet at least. I appreciate that you wish to help me, and you have already by allowing me to spar with you and to have someone else besides Thorn and my father to speak to." He took a deep breath, "And I would like us to be friends, but you must give me my space. My life for the most part is private, and I would much prefer it to remain that way unless I see fit to share things with you."

Eragon said nothing thinking that Murtagh was not finished yet.

"You must understand. I have few friends, and gaining my trust is difficult. Even more so is gaining enough trust for me to share my troubles with you _and_ to ask for help," he said and then remained silent, his eyes watching Eragon all the while.

_He speaks truthfully, at least as far as I can tell_, mentioned Saphira.

"I can live with that, Just know that if you ever need my help, you need only ask," Eragon finally responded. "Friends?"

"Aye." Murtagh let a smile out briefly before it disappeared, "Friends."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Thanks for the support! Haha I wish I did get more reviews, but I'll write all the same. Again I appreciate those of you who have stuck around with me so far and I hope you enjoy the rest of the story as it unfolds.


	11. Power

_**DISCLAIMER: **_The Inheritance Cycle is not owned by me. Christopher Paolini owns that universe which he created.

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><p><strong>Edge of Oblivion<strong>

_Chapter X - Power_

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><p>Galbatorix watched with a passive glance as the Shade raged before him, yelling and showing his displeasure. His red eyes glowed with a fire within and his red hair tossed this way and that as his body shook with his anger.<p>

Having had enough, Galbatorix slammed his fist into the table before him, silencing the Shade immediately. "Enough," he growled, "I did what had to be done."

Though the Shade's eyes still raged with anger, he did not utter another word.

Galbatorix stared straight back into his eyes with his own eyes blank and emotionless. "Is it not true," he paused as he thought of what to say, "That a Shade gets stronger every time it is disembodied?"

Durza bared his sharp teeth, his features twisted into a glare, but he responded rather coolly, "That is true... but the pain is... the pain is great... and it takes considerable time and effort to reform again."

"And is it not true that, before I intervened, you would have been vanquished?" continued the dark rider.

The Shade visibly stiffened, and his reply was spoken through gritted teeth, "Yes."

Galbatorix clasped his hands together in front of him, elbows propped on the table and his fingers intertwining. "I did what I had to do, given the circumstances, Durza. You would have died had I not intervened then, thanks to your foolishness. I also wounded you and forced you to be disembodied for two reasons: one, so I could better convince Morzan to join us, for should he have asked me to speak in the ancient language I would not have been able to lie, and two, it has made you stronger, has it not?"

Durza bristled, but the fire in his eyes died down somewhat.

"Now, be a good Shade and loose your anger elsewhere," said the dark rider nonchalantly, "Oh, and next time you decide to show such insolence I would remind you that you serve me now, and that I can end you if I so choose." Galbatorix' armor-encased finger pointed at him as he finished speaking.

The Shade's eyes cooled their fury, and he inclined his head. "My apologies," he forced himself to say before he turned and left.

Galbatorix thought then that he would have to find a way to better deal with the Shade. He was a powerful tool, that much was true, but he had yet to find a good use for him. It was clear, however, that he needed to be reined in more and that he must continue to be a hidden weapon for if his new followers were to find out about his use of the Shade they may find a way to defy him. Though he knew it was near impossible, given the oaths they had sworn that bound them in the ancient language and thus with ancient power, it was not completely impossible. And he could not afford to make any mistakes until the riders were defeated and the next stages of his plan were to unfold.

Leaning back in his chair, Galbatorix examined his right hand and then balled it up into a fist.

-**xxx**-

The cold air was still for once as Morzan and Paine waited patiently in the southeastern most tip of Vroengard. They sat atop a large boulder, waves crashing about them. The smell of the sea wafted through their nostrils as the roiling sea occasionally showered them with small droplets of salty water. He shifted in his saddle to a more comfortable position, and a small doubt gnawed its way into his mind that perhaps they would not come. Worse still, his mind imaging that one of them or perhaps all of them had told the others. He refused to believe that, though the doubt lingered in his mind.

With relief, Morzan eyed the three human riders. He felt suspicious as each approached, flying low to the ground with their dragons, but he saw that no others were with them. They were weaker riders, younger than he, and that was part of the reason why they so eagerly decided to join in the cause. For one, they wished as much as Morzan to bring about a new Age of Man. Another reason was that they hungered for power, and they did not want to wait for years to attain it. As always, there were those who desired power _now_. They were easy enough to convince after he promised them that, once the riders of old fell of course.

Several hours of hard travel later and they emerged over the area of the Spine where Galbatorix currently hid. It was close to the coast and relatively close to Vroengard, but still within the embrace of the mountains. But just barely, for even Galbatorix dared not go too deep into the Spine as he once did so long ago. Not yet at least.

Morzan watched as the three riders swore their oaths to Galbatorix, who remained quite emotionless throughout the whole ordeal. They joined their cause officially today. In the few months since Morzan had bound himself to Galbatorix, he had managed to convince one other to join as well as these three. He had tested their thoughts and opinions on the Riders and the elves, and when he found it possible to sway them to join with Galbatorix he persuaded them to do so. And they had followed. His heart fluttered slightly in excitement as he thought of how he had succeeded. Now there were five who supported Galbatorix. Their numbers were growing, and with that came greater power and success ahead.

Whispering in each of their ears whatever it was that he told them, Galbatorix dismissed them in turn. When they were alone, he turned to Morzan and broke out into a smile.

"I am impressed," he said, "You have done well, Morzan. Much better than I anticipated, bringing three to our cause." He raised a hand to chest level and balled it up into a fist, his armored gauntlets shining in the torchlight. "We are one step closer to beginning our overthrow of the elves. Now, you must continue to search for any more who could be brought to our cause."

Morzan bowed his head, "I continue to serve."

"Good, good." Galbatorix dropped his hand, his eyes piercing into Morzan's. "Now, I have a special task for you."

Morzan listened intently and betrayed no emotion as shock filled him, and then awe as he was told what to do.

-**xxx**-

Ileria was quiet, and for such a large city it was quite the sight to behold. Then again it was very late in the evening, and most of the inhabitants of the city were asleep save for the few night owls, Knights, and the occasional criminal. Paine flew over the city, and he could sense the alarm and suspicion of the Knights as they descended upon the city. Landing at the designated plaza for the riders, he waited for the guards to approach him. Soon enough he was confronted by the captain of the night watch. Several Knights were with him as he approached.

"Greetings, rider. What brings you so late to the city?"

"I must relay a message to elder Roppen," he replied calmly, though with an edge of authority in his voice, "It is an urgent matter."

The captain nodded, "Very well, rider. But I must ask, what is your name?"

"There is no time," Morzan growled.

The captain would not give, though he was fearful, "I _must_ have it, rider. It is protocol. Everyone who enters the city must be identified and none are exempted," he hesitated and then finished his statement, "not even the riders."

Morzan scowled in irritation, "My name is Demholdst," he lied. Demholdst was a younger rider than he, though also one of the senior riders. And he had a red dragon as well. It would do.

The Knight captain thanked him, "Elder Roppen is currently in Castle Ileria. If you wish, I can have him contacted at once, or you may go to him yourself."

"No I have no time to look for him myself. Inform elder Roppen that I need his assistance at once on an urgent matter and to meet me northwest of here by mount Andeali with all haste."

The captain nodded and motioned to one of the Knights, who was no doubt a spellcaster and would relay the message through a chain of other spellcasters that would eventually reach Roppen. The Knight lowered his head, and then raised it again as he nodded towards the captain. The captain turned to Morzan, "If I may ask, rider Demholdst, what is it that is so urgent?"

Morzan stared at him for a moment, making the man uncomfortable, before he said, "It is best that you do not know."

_Let's go_, he said to Paine who obliged him by leaping into the air, startling the Knights who had been close by and making the captain stumble to the ground from the sudden move. He could sense at first their embarrassment then their anger and resentment, but he cared not for them. Their were bigger things to worry about than the respect of a few Knights.

Several hours later, as the fingertips of dawn grabbed the edge of the world so as to pull herself up, Morzan saw the enormous brown dragon hurtling through the sky with such speed that one would not have guessed the giant dragon possessed. This was the third-largest dragon bound to a rider currently living, as Roppen was the third oldest of the elders. If Morzan could remember correctly, his dragon's name was Tensul. Tense with anticipation of what was to come, he put his plated-helmet on, which covered his entire head and for his face there was a mask.

Tensul soared low and, spotting them, angled his large body towards the red rider and dragon. With a magnificent rumble from his landing, he brought in his wings and Roppen looked at him with the same emotionless expression most elves held.

"Demholdst, why have you called me here at such an hour and made me come hither with such haste?" his tone betrayed the irritation that he no doubt felt. "This had better be as urgent as your message revealed."

"But it is," said Morzan, his voice somewhat muffled by the mask. "There was a Shade here just recently, and I thought that perhaps we could hunt it and finally end its life."

Roppen stiffened ever so slightly in his saddle, "The Shade is _here_?" he said as he looked around, eyes squinting as he tried to discern any signs of a Shade.

"Aye, I managed to kill the Urgals who traveled with him. He hides in a cave, beyond this ridge. You were the first elder I could think of to ask for help. I believe that together," he continued, "We can end the Shade and his reign of terror."

Roppen gave him a firm nod, "Seeing as how I am already here, and with the Shade trapped in a cave... let us go and finish this nasty business."

They flew the short distance over the ridge and happened upon the destroyed Urgal camp. The rotting bodies of the slain Urgals left a foul stench in the air that mixed with the smell of ash and burnt wood.

"Are you certain he is still there?" asked Roppen as he dismounted Tensul.

"Aye, elder. I chased him into the cave myself," explained Morzan.

"And you were alone?"

"No, elder. I was with rider Pentas and together we were able to force him to flee into this cave. Pentas has stood guard while I fetched you, and I sent him to Doru Araeba upon my return to inform everyone of what happened here."

Roppen, satisfied with that answer, drew his sword then and beckoned for Morzan to follow. "Very well, let us get this over with Demholdst." And as they entered, he added, "It would be a good test to battle and eventually kill a Shade."

A few feet into the dark passageway, Roppen summoned a bright light that hung over them. And as they turned a corner, Galbatorix stood before them in his dark armor. He smiled as he registered the shock on the elf's face.

"What..." he managed to say, before Galbatorix cut him off.

"Ah, elder Roppen. So good of you to come on such short notice. I was not quite sure if you would be summoned so easily, but nevertheless we had to try." Then Galbatorix gave the slightest of nods to Morzan.

Roppen felt the tip of Morzan's sword rip into his back as the blade punctured through his abdomen, the wards he had cast to protect him from blades negated by the magic infused in the rider's sword. He howled in agony as pain erupted through him. Pain he had never felt before. Unbearable pain. He could feel the blood rushing forth, and his breath was ragged. He tried to lash out with magic but Galbatorix had already placed a spell on him that stilled his body and thus his mouth. It was a powerful spell, for the elder fought against it and yet could not break it and Galbatorix did not seem to be bothered by the strain on his magic.

Stepping over the fallen elf, Galbatorix raised an armored fist and slammed it heavily into the elf's head, knocking him unconscious. Picking up the elf's blade in his left hand, he instructed Morzan to drag the elf with him as he strode towards the cave's entrance.

"Now, let's go see Tensul," he said smugly.

They dragged him outside, where Tensul quivered in obvious pain. Upon seeing them and his wounded rider, he roared mightily and advanced forward. Galbatorix shook his head and quickly moved his own blade to Roppen's neck. "Tut tut, let's not do anything rash now Tensul."

The dragon growled, but stopped advancing. His muscles were tense, however, ready to pounce.

"Now, if you want your rider to live, you will do _exactly_ as I say," Galbatorix said. "You must let me into your mind, Tensul. If you do so, I promise you that I will not harm your rider." He proceeded to repeat that in the ancient language, showing that he was not lying. Tensul snarled, his large jaw snapping as his gaze drifted over to where his injured rider lay. His breathing was shallow and blood trickled from his wound. The dragon then looked the black-clad rider in the eyes.

"Morzan. You know what to do," said Galbatorix before he called upon his magic and then assaulted the dragon's mind. He knew that Tensul would resist, but because a part of the dragon wished for his rider to survive and thus comply with Galbatorix the resistance was not that strong and Galbatorix was powerful enough to overcome him. He had trouble controlling such a vast consciousness, but he dug into his power and was able to hold the dragon's will. Then, with a mighty effort that made him fall to one knee, he forced the dragon into his heart of hearts.

Realizing what he was doing, Tensul tried to fight, but it was too late. Having gained control and thus dominion over Tensul's mind, he was able to force him into his eldunari. A secret that Galbatorix knew most riders did not know about, and one that the elven elders thought he did not know about either. But they were sorely mistaken.

Once that he was satisfied that the eldunari was filled with the consciousness of Tensul, he forced the dragon to release his eldunari. That alone took a lot of energy as the dragon fought with all its might to regain control of itself. Again, however, Galbatorix' hold was too complete already and it could not stop as it watched in horror as a large brown jewel filled with bright light emerged from his mouth and was placed onto the ground. Taking his cue, Morzan walked over to the elder brown dragon, blade in hand.

Galbatorix' hold slowly began to weaken, having used an enormous store of energy already, but he managed to force Tensul to lean back and expose his unarmored brown chest. His muscles shook from the strain as the dragon slowly began to regain control of itself.

Morzan readied Zar'roc, tip pointing at the dragon's heart, but hesitated at killing the great creature.

"DO IT YOU FOOL!" yelled Galbatorix, visibly straining from the massive effort to control the raging dragon.

And just as Tensul finally threw Galbatorix out of his mind, Morzan plunged Zar'roc deep into the brown dragon's chest. He twisted his sword while it was buried deep into the dragon for good measure and then ran away as Tensul reared, roaring in agony. He swiped his claws towards them, but they were too far and with his strength fading quickly he could not move any closer to them. He opened his maw and did the only thing left that he could think of. A jet of searing flames erupted from his mouth, but Morzan had already picked up the weakened Galbatorix and moved him out of the way before he had even opened his jaw. The elder dragon began to spasm, tearing up the ground around it, before finally it stilled.

Tensul was no more. Or at least his body was dead. A few muscles twitched here and there, but the giant body of the dragon lay lifeless on the ground. It's blood flowing into an ever-growing pool of red beneath it. Galbatorix sighed heavily, exhausted from his efforts, but he clutched the brown jewel to him and smiled triumphantly. He looked at Morzan, who was impressed by the display of Galbatorix' power. For a moment neither of them spoke. Galbatorix was catching his breath while Morzan was fully comprehending what had occurred.

They had taken another step towards their goal, as far as he was concerned. But he could not help but feel somewhat saddened by the loss of such a great and powerful dragon. The elf he could care less about, but it was the dragon that had left him somewhat uneasy from killing it. Brushing those thoughts aside, he took comfort in knowing that he had helped again to advance their cause.

"What is with that jewel that came out of him?" asked Morzan out of curiosity.

Galbatorix looked up at him from where he sat leaning against a rock, "Power, Morzan. It is power..." he trailed off and then said, "Now, kill the elf."

He felt the energy of Tensul emanating from the jewel, and he smiled. All this was about power - for he needed it if he were to shape Alagaësia to his will and vision.

Not understanding what he meant, and not needing to, Morzan nodded his head and gave him a wicked grin, "With pleasure." The task was simple enough, sinking his blade into the elf's chest as he did to his dragon, and the elf ceased to breathe. Wiping the blood off Zar'roc with the elf's garments, he walked back to Galbatorix.

"Good work, Morzan," he said tiredly, "but next time you have a killing blow you must not hesitate. We cannot afford to make mistakes. Is that understood?"

Morzan bowed his head, "I am sorry, sire. And yes, I understand perfectly. I shall not hesitate again."

Galbatorix looked at the glowing jewel in his hands. Long had he dreamt of this day. To see it finally come to fruition and to see his plans succeeding thus far delighted him to no end. Soon, very soon, he would be strong enough to take on Vrael and the blasted elven riders.

He began to laugh, and the sound of it made even Morzan feel a shiver of fear crawl down his spine.

-**xxx**-

Vrael woke up with a start. His heart beating furiously within his chest and his lungs gasping for air. His eyes adjusted quickly to the darkness around him as he looked around, a hand on the handle of his blade that rested within arm's length from where he lay. He cautiously extended out his consciousness and found only his bonded dragon in the cave. His ears strained to catch any strange noises, and his eyes searched in vain for something, anything. After a while, he let go of the hilt of his sword and sat upright, eyes still warily searching the cave. For what, he was not sure, but something felt amiss. He felt as if something terrible had happened, or was about to happen, and his heart filled with dread.

_What ails you, Vrael?_ the low rumbling voice of Umaroth asked out of concern, noticing the distress that echoed within his rider. His massive white head rose up from the ground where it had been lying through the night, and enormous white eyes looked out at him.

Vrael did not answer, his mind still trying to understand what had caused him to wake up in such a state. For the first time in a long time he acknowledged that he felt fear. He looked to his bond-mate with confusion.

_I do not know_.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **This is a short chapter, but a necessary one so that you are made aware of what else is occurring and what moves Galbatorix is making. Slowly but surely, we move towards the Edge of Oblivion. :)


	12. Winter

_**DISCLAIMER: **_The Inheritance Cycle is not owned by me. Christopher Paolini owns that universe which he created.

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><p><strong>Edge of Oblivion<strong>

_Chapter XI - Winter_

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><p>"Your balance has improved, and so has your strength and speed," said Brom with a fatherly pride in his eyes, impressed as he traded a few more blows with his son. Their swords were held in front of them firmly in their grips as they observed each other, looking for any weaknesses to exploit or foreseeable reactions to take advantage of. Knowing how your enemy would react to an attack would allow one to strike in the desired places after all. While their fundamental styles had not changed, Eragon's increased speed, strength, and balance as noted by the older rider had improved his fighting abilities.<p>

Unbeknownst to his son, however, he had been holding back for many years now as he waited for him to get stronger and better. Now that he was, he was slowly increasing his effort - not too fast so as to arouse suspicion. It would not do to reveal such deception on his part. Even though it was to make Eragon feel better, knowing the truth would hurt not only his pride but his trust. The young rider would no doubt feel slighted and maybe even a little manipulated, but Brom did what he thought was necessary. And in his opinion, so far, he had been right in doing so.

Eragon raised an eyebrow momentarily during one of the breaks as he noticed that his father seemed to have gotten faster and stronger himself since the last time they had sparred. They had yet to hit each other this time around, but his father had come dangerously close to doing so several times already. More so than the young rider had at least, but he relished the challenge. If his father wanted to step up his game, then he would try and match him. He redoubled his efforts, to the surprise of Brom who backed up a little as he parried and blocked several strikes, leaning back as a sudden, unexpected stab of Eragon's sword grazed the bottom of his beard.

Batting away the younger rider's sword he recovered and grinned boyishly, again impressed by the improvements his son had made over the past few months. A feeling of sadness flitted through his mind as he realized how fast his son was growing up already. Too soon he would have his own home and family to take care of.

"Enough for today," he said, "I grow weary."

Eragon looked at him with a curious expression. The young rider could feel that something had bothered his father. "Is everything alright?"

Brom nodded, putting a nearly genuine smile on his face as he said, "Yes. Everything is fine."

His son believed him, still not able to closely study such subtleties in facial expressions for if he had he would have seen the falseness of the smile and the slight hesitation of his father. Two shadows passed over them, and looking up they saw Sephyr and Saphira flying around rather playfully. It seemed Sephyr was letting himself go a little, and that made both father and son smile. Noticing that their riders were watching, both dragons roared happily and Sephyr let out a jet of fire. Saphira, to Eragon's surprise, also opened her jaws and released a small jet of blue flame.

_You breathe fire!_ he exclaimed in his thoughts, _Has__ it really been that long already?_ he asked her as he stared up in wonder at the two dragons, his eyes focused especially on the smaller of the two as she flew through the air with far more grace than the larger dragon.

_Aye, little one_, she said, _Time has flown since the time I hatched_.

Eragon smiled and said playfully, _It's okay, you'll still be a hatchling in my eyes._

She mentally growled at him as she flew around in circles over them. The sun shone brightly overheard, only a few clouds in the sky. It was a relatively warm winter day thanks to the mostly clear skies that allowed the sun to bathe everything with its everlasting warmth.

The whole time that was happening, Brom had been studying his son, capturing a mental image of the moment. Eragon was still looking up, watching Saphira with joy in his eyes and a large smile plastered onto his face. He wanted to remember this moment, and thought that perhaps he would make a fairth of it later. His mind drifted then as his thoughts turned from those of sunshine and happiness to the dark clouds that seemed to be gathering. A storm was coming to Alagaësia, and he was afraid that his son would have to grow up even faster when it hit.

The Shade had been seen all over Alagaësia based on some reports from the agents of the riders as well as some of the riders themselves, though those that saw him never dared approach him alone. Then, there was the mysterious disappearance of elder Roppen. It had been several days since he left Ileria, where he had been staying as it was his turn to be at the capital for a few months - the elders would switch shifts that were months at a time long, because there always had to be an elder in Ileria. According to the Knight captain who had last seen Roppen, he had been summoned by another rider who identified himself as Demholdst, who flew a red dragon.

Making matters even more suspicious and perplexing was that Demholdst could not be found either. From what he had heard of the rider and from what he personally knew, this was unusual behavior on his part. While there was a sneaking suspicion of treachery and foul play involved, nobody wished to give that idea much weight. It was too dangerous and grave a thought to dwell upon, though Brom was willing to bet a king's ransom that the Shade was somehow involved in all of this.

Brom, while not an elder himself, was close to some of the elders and thus was privy to such sensitive information. Vrael was worried, and Brom actually thought he might have sensed a bit of fear in the eldest of them all. Oromis was also concerned, though he was optimistic about the matter. Perhaps Demholdst and Roppen had discovered something important and had yet to return. Deep down, Brom knew that was false hope. In fact he found it rather foolish that the elders merely speculated rather than actively trying to find out. Their reasoning was to not cause alarm among the ranks, and if word ever got out into the greater Alagaësia there would be panicking for sure. As well as a heightened sense of fear for all.

"Father?" Eragon called to him again as Brom finally snapped out of his deep thinking, looking around as if he were lost for a moment then remembering where he was.

"Sorry, Eragon. I must have gotten lost in my thoughts," he replied with a hint of apology in his voice. He listened intently to him then to ensure he would not slip back into his thoughts and ignore him again. He needed to stay in the moment when he was with Eragon, for worrying solved nothing and time once lost could not be retaken. And he wanted to relish as much time as he could with his son while he still could, for the days ahead seemed to grow ever darker. He hoped his son would be ready for the storm it when it came.

"I was wondering," his son hesitated to continue, as if he was unsure if he should speak his mind.

Brom gave him an encouraging nod, "Go on. You may speak freely to me, Eragon. I am here as a father, mentor, and friend."

Making up his mind he finally said, "What do you know of Morzan? And his son Murtagh? Master Oromis mentioned to me before that you two had been his pupils before..."

To say that the question surprised Brom would have been a massive understatement. He had not expected that question to be asked by his son, and he wondered what made him so curious of the two. Carefully choosing his words, he replied, "Well, son. What Oromis said is true, we both trained under him. Morzan was older than I by several years, however, and so he finished his training well before I did. As for his son, I know little about him save that he is one of two novice riders, yourself included in that number."

Eragon looked at him thoughtfully. He wondered how much more he could ask his father on the subject. At least this time he had noticed the hesitation and the surprise that his father had reacted with to his question. He could tell it was not something he wished to freely discuss, but Eragon had been trying to think of what troubles Murtagh was going through.

"So... were you two close?" The question was posed innocently enough, and again Brom was surprised and pained that it was asked. He did not want to go through this memories and talk about the past here. Not when he was trying to enjoy the present with his son. But he also knew he could not fully ignore his son's questions. One thing he had learned as the father of Eragon was that the young man was curious about everything and had questions about everything - though he may not speak them aloud all the time he knew they were there.

Brom sighed deeply, "Once," he allowed himself to say with a slow nod.

"What happened?" Now this question was not unexpected. He had seen it coming, and knew it would be asked but a part of him had hoped that maybe, just maybe, his son's curiosity might be satiated. He also had hoped that perhaps he would pick up on just how much he did not want to talk about the matter. Either his son really wanted to know more about them for whatever reason or he was oblivious to subtle messages entirely. He hoped it was the former.

Sighing again, he spoke, "Why do you ask such questions, Eragon? What interest do you have in Morzan and his son?"

A part of Eragon felt that he should not reveal his friendship with Murtagh, but when he tried to think of a reason as to why he should he could not come up with any. The only thing that came close to a reason was to keep Murtagh's privacy. Eragon could not imagine his father blabbing about how Murtagh was a friend of his son though, so he decided to tell him.

Brom, for what seemed like the hundredth time that day, was stunned again. He had not known about his son's meetings with Murtagh, and how they were now friends. He had been away on rider business as well as his own personal matters that he had not really paid as much attention to what his son had been doing. Then again, he was no longer a small boy who needed watching over. Brom was wary of Murtagh however because of his father and he was not exactly sure how he felt with the fact that his son was befriending the spawn of Morzan.

"Son," said Brom, "Listen to me very carefully. Morzan and I... we used to be close. I looked up to him at one time, but then something terrible happened... and he was never the same after that. He became manipulative, violent, quick to anger, and most of all power-hungry." He paused, eyes staring intently at his son's so that he may understand what he was trying to convey, "Admittedly, I have never met Morzan's son and the fact that you are friends with him shows that he does not seem to be like his father. That said, you should be wary with your dealings with him from now on."

Brom had a far-away look in his eyes as he continued to speak, his voice softening towards a whisper, "One time I thought I could change him, but he has fallen beyond my ability to help..."

Eragon did not know what to make of his father's advice. He did not know much about Murtagh to begin with, and even less about Morzan. What he did know was that so far, Murtagh had been a good man. He seemed nice enough, though intensely private and sometimes prone to anger. He was not so sure that his anger was not warranted however, and decided to give him the benefit of the doubt for the time being. He would keep his father's advice in mind for sure, but he would not let it color his view of Murtagh. If Brom said that Morzan was as bad as he was, he believed it. But from what he had seen from his few interactions with the son, it seems the apple has fallen far from the tree.

They were quiet for a while as their respective dragons finally landed close by and approached their riders. Both riders were digesting the information that they had each gleaned from the other while their partner-dragons thought little else besides having more fun. Brimming with excitement, Saphira touched Eragon's mind and, startled at first, he quickly filled her in on what her father had said. Quickly turning serious, Saphira agreed with his thoughts.

_Murtagh does not seem to be like his father is described,_ she gave her opinion on the matter, _And if Morzan is indeed like that, then perhaps now you can understand the troubles he seems to be going through._

Eragon looked up at her, _What do I do then?_ He seemed at a loss. While he agreed that it must have been troubles with his father that had affected Murtagh, he did not know how to act on that knowledge. He had told Murtagh that he would give him the space he needed, and that should he decide to include Eragon into his life more then he would do so. Eragon was not going to push, but this made him deeply troubled that perhaps maybe he should. In order to help him. To save him.

_Little one_, Saphira said with warmth, _It is extremely generous of you to wish to help Murtagh, but you heard what he said. You know what he wants. He wants to handle things on his own terms and when he is ready he will talk to you and open up more_. She paused as she moved her head closer to him, a large sapphire eye looking at him with a hint of sadness. A far cry from the jubilant gleam she had a mere few minutes ago.

Eragon did not speak. Her words were true, and he knew it deep down, but he still felt as if he should be doing something to help his friend.

_Again, recall that he said you are already helping him with what you are currently doing_, her voice lowered, _and if you push him he may tighten in on himself and never open up to you._

He allowed a look of frustration onto his face as he ran a hand through his hair. Closing his eyes, he breathed in and out deeply to relax. _You're right. I just... knowing what we know now, I feel as if we should be acting on that knowledge._

Saphira grunted, _True. But think deeper than that, Eragon. You know he will also want to know how you know these things about him. He will be suspicious, that is for certain._

_Okay, okay_, he grumbled, _I get it_. Her reasoning was sound, and he knew she was right. It did not mean he had to like it, however. Doing nothing, even when it was the right course of action, made him feel as if he were failing in some way.

Saphira let out a small snort, _I am always right_.

-**xxx**-

The cold was unforgiving and the wind howled unrelenting in its fury. Even the trees seemed to shiver, their leaves rustling in the wind like the chattering of teeth. At least those trees that _had_ leaves did. The ones that were leafless swayed their naked branches, their cold barks groaning in protest over the hostile conditions. Dark storm clouds as large as mountains rolled overhead, threatening at any moment to unleash the torrent of snow that they no doubt held closely. Then, like a host of warriors charging towards the enemy ranks, the snow burst forth from the clouds and dropped as a heavy blanket upon the land.

Eragon watched it all unfold through a window overlooking the small grove nearby as he sat by the fireplace, a few logs burning and keeping the room nice and toasty. He had his legs curled up under him and to the side slightly as he sipped upon the hot tea his mother had made for him. A blanket of a middling thickness covered his lower half and he felt quite cozy. His gaze drifted towards the fire, and his mind turned to Saphira. He hoped that she had been in the hold before the snow fell.

_I am well, Eragon. I told you that a big storm was coming. _She sent him an image of the scene at the hold: numerous dragons of different colors and sizes rested all around. Glaedr among them, looming larger over most dragons though Eragon noticed one purple dragon that seemed to be close to his size. Noticing a few red riders, he wondered...

_He is not here, _Saphira cut him off. For a moment he speculated as to where they could possibly be and he hoped that they were not caught in the blizzard.

_How are the other dragons? _asked Eragon suddenly, trying to change the subject. He had wondered how Saphira interacted with the others of her kind. While she had seen how she acted with Sephyr, that was because he was his father's dragon and so they shared a closer relationship than he imagined most dragons do. Then there was Thorn, who Eragon noticed was just as private and seemingly isolated as his rider was. Glaedr, being her master, was a different story and did not quite count. All in all, he had not seen her in the company of other dragons much.

She seemed a bit amused and embarrassed by the question and did not answer him immediately.

_What's so embarrassing?_ he wondered aloud in his mind, letting her hear his thoughts.

He could feel a slight uneasy in her as she answered him, _Well, most of the dragons here are male..._ she trailed off.

Oh. He understood now. That was why... He resisted the urge to laugh, though it was not enough for her not to notice the thought of doing so and she glowered at him for it. _It is not funny, some of them are quite nice... others, well they are rather rude and... well, let's leave it at that._

Unable to resist this time he finally broke out into a light chuckle, _Any fine suitors yet?_

_This is not funny, Eragon_, she huffed and blocked him temporarily from her thoughts.

He grinned, still somewhat amused as he sipped at the tea.

"What is it?" asked his mother curiously.

He turned his head towards her, "What is what mother?"

"What were you laughing about?"

His grin widened a bit, "Oh, Saphira is being... wooed by a dragon or two, I think. She hasn't told me the whole story, and I doubt she will anytime soon. But I thought it was amusing, especially since she was making fun of me and how I felt about..." he stopped then as he realized he was about to reveal her name to his mother. He hoped that she would not make the connection, having been there that night and having introduced them after all. She saw through him plain as a day, and he cringed slightly at how Arya must have seen him looking at her in such a way.

Her mother's lips widened into a grin of her own. Her eyes, unwavering, looked with affection and a trace of amusement at her son. Already a young man, for the most part, and a rider to boot. He could have his pick of women if he so chose, but the one he wanted was probably one of the hardest to catch in all of Alagaësia. Fair though she may be, she was as much good as she was bad. Good in that she was wise, powerful, and she understood the dragon riders as well as humans in general. Bad in that she was far older than she appeared, and the age gap may prove too much between them. Another bad was that danger would follow her wherever she went because of her duties and her lineage. She did not have the heart to tell Eragon all this, however. He would have to find it all out for himself and decide for himself what he would do.

As a mother, she felt both joy that he seemed to have found someone he loved and yet sorrow for in her mind it did not look like it was going to happen. Very few elf-human couples have ever lived, but most of them were riders however. So if any human were to find an elf as a mate and join that rare group of them it would be Eragon. Above all, she hoped that for his sake he would not be too hurt should she reject him.

Seeing his discomfort, she decided not to pursue the matter and instead asked him about his training and what new things he had learned. He proceeded to tell her some of more interesting words he had learned in the ancient language as well as some stories of historical battles that changed the face of Alagaësia forever. He talked about his weapons training as well as his magical training, which much to his dismay was progressing at a far slower rate than his physical training. Then there were the aerial maneuvers that Saphira was learning both on her own and with Eragon on her back.

He shared a few more things with her, such as what he thought about Glaedr and Oromis. "Glaedr, I feel, is so serious and intimidating that I can never _not _take him seriously. Oromis, meanwhile, has loosened up a little and been a bit friendlier than before. While he was always friendly to me, he seems... almost warmer and more receptive to my presence now than before. He is definitely at times a little less serious than Glaedr, but they are both strict in their teachings," he explained to her, "I am blessed to have them as my masters. It's been a lot of hard work, but because I enjoy the whole experience it does not seem nearly as hard as it does... sometimes," he added the last bit as an afterthought. True enough, he was merely starting his training and he had no doubts that what lay in store for him in the months ahead were going to be more difficult.

She sat on a couch across from the one he was sitting on, both angled fourty-five degrees to face the fireplace. A round, wooden coffee table stood between them, underneath which was laid out a rug made out of the brown pelt of a giant stag. Selena drank from her own cup of tea as she looked over at Eragon, marveling at how much he had grown already in the span of a little more than six months. And just like Saphira, it was not merely his body that had grown but also his mind.

"Your father always spoke highly of Oromis, and the few times I have had the chance to speak to him he has always been pleasant," she told him, adjusting the blanket that she had wrapped around herself.

"What do you know about Morzan?" he asked, seemingly out of the blue.

She was taken aback by the question, "Why do you ask?"

Realizing that his father must not have spoken to her about their previous discussion of Morzan and his son, he told her that he had befriended Morzan's son but knew little of his father. "Murtagh hasn't exactly told me anything about his father, and I am curious since father spoke of being close to him before... though not anymore."

"Brom told you?" she looked puzzled. She was not aware that her husband had told Eragon about his past with Morzan, and she wondered just how much Brom had told the young man.

He nodded, "He didn't get into specifics, really. He merely mentioned that they were close once, but an incident drove them apart. And now he does not think so highly of him." He wanted to know as much as he could so that if the time came that Murtagh were to open up to him or to ask him for help he would be ready and be able to understand better.

She thought for a moment, as if sifting through memories from long ago. Then she spoke, "I did not know much of him until after their relationship had already broken apart. Brom would tell me little on the matter, but there were a few times that I did meet him when I was with your father. Those moments were quite..." she paused, her eyes seemingly out of focus as she remembered, "unpleasant. There was an air of coldness about him, and I always felt a little nervous when I saw him. His eyes would from time to time flash with a sudden rage, only to be hidden again. Almost as if he were about to explode and lash out at any moment. I would say he was almost... insane, even."

She took a long sip from her own cup of tea and sighed, "Suffice it to say that I do not think highly of him at all, and I would take the utmost care when you are around Murtagh. I do not know what their relationship is like, but growing up in that household..." she stared out the window, not finishing her sentence.

The fire had died down by that point, only a few bright red embers and a some slowly burning small pieces of wood remaining. After a while Eragon finished his tea and soon after he stood up.

"I'm feeling tired," he said, "Thank you for the conversation and the tea, mother." Taking his empty cup with him he brought it to the sink and washed it before he went upstairs to his old room. He had a lot to think about.

-**xxx**-

The morning after was a far cry from the night before. Everything was calm and quiet at dawn. Working its way higher, the sun jumped over the horizon by the time Eragon left his parents' home in the city. Snow that was roughly three feet deep packed every surface that had been exposed to the elements. A light breeze flowed from the northeast, stirring some of the snow around.

Trudging through the snow, Eragon shivered slightly as he adjusted the thick coat he wore. All around him, the city of Doru Araeba was slowly awakening to find the thick sheet of snow the blizzard had buried them under. Projecting his mind towards the dragon hold high above the Citadel, he focused on Saphira's consciousness.

_It took you long enough to wake up, lazy one_, she poked back at his mental probe.

He stuck out his tongue at her, mentally of course, _I had trouble sleeping_.

_What happened?_ she growled, apparently unaware of his conversation with his mother. She had been busy conversing with the other dragons, having had few opportunities to talk to so many of them for so long a time.

Eragon quickly recounted everything he talked about with his mother, going so far as to show her his memories of how she looked as she spoke to him.

The dragonness hummed in response, thinking on the matter. _Well, she is of the same opinion as your father and what she told you reinforces what your father already said. You would do well to heed them, though I feel that Murtagh is no image of his father._

Stomach grumbling, Eragon told her he would meet up with her at the hold after he had eaten. Passing through the dining hall, he quickly wolfed down some breakfast before taking the many steps up to the hold. He realized it was not a good idea to exert himself so soon after eating, but he continued on. A light sweat had formed on his skin as he entered the hold. There were a few dragons still there, and his eyes widened ever so slightly at the sight of them. There were seven dragons lying down on the ground in two separate groups, one group of three and another group of four.

They all turned to watch the new arrival, and he felt suddenly conscious of the way he walked. He met their gazes, and none of them averted their eyes as they continued to stare at him. They regarded him differently, some with interest and curiosity and others with indifference. His sapphire-scaled dragon was among the group of three and so he walked towards them, aware of the eyes of all the dragons following his every movement. He wondered what they were thinking. Saphira was situated next to a silver-scaled dragon roughly the size of Sephyr, perhaps a little bigger even. The third dragon had lime green scales that were quite bright to behold. A thought occurred to him then as he wondered what decided the color of dragons.

Saphira lowered her head as he approached and he touched her snout, smiling.

_Hello, little one,_ she greeted him and sending him feelings of warmth, which he happily accepted and returned.

_Making friends I see_, he said and she laughed.

_Indeed. The silver one is Thessus, he is Kristoff's dragon. And the green one is Sona, I do not think you know her rider. She is an elf named Malkha._

His gaze went from one dragon to the other as he gently touched their minds with his own and greeted them. _Greetings, I am Eragon and I am Saphira's rider._

Sona greeted him cheerily, _Greetings to you, Eragon Bromsson. I am Sona, bonded to Malkha of the elves._

Thessus was more reserved, and as was usual for a dragon of his size his mental voice was deeper and louder than Thorn's, _Well met, Eragon Bromsson. I have heard much about you from Saphira and my rider. Sephyr also speaks highly of you._

Surprised by the knowledge, he made a mental note to talk to Sephyr sometime and thank him for his good words.

There was silence for a while, at least to Eragon. He did not doubt that they were conversing, though what about he did not know nor did he care to find out. He enjoyed being in the company of the dragons, especially Saphira, and he was content with that. Besides, unless they wished to include him in the conversation he did not want to intrude.

Sona stood and announced to all of them that her rider beckoned, and so she left.

A moment later, Eragon felt Thessus' consciousness brush his and he looked at the dragon questioningly.

_My rider wishes you to know that within a month he will call for you, _one of his large eyes blinked and it took a few seconds for Eragon to realize that he had winked at him. He found that amusing.

_Thank you, I look forward to it._ He did not know what else to say, so he kept quiet though his eyes still looked on at the silver one. His thoughts had already become occupied with seeing Arya again. He wondered what she had been up to all this time and how she would look and in what setting he would meet her in. Thoughts from the previous night and of Morzan and Murtagh soon forgotten.

-**xxx**-

Since the blizzard, there was not much activity with regards to the weather. A few light dustings of snow and sleet from small groups of clouds passing overhead was the worst of it and the wind did not blow as harshly anymore. It was as if nature had expended all its energy in that one storm and was satisfied with the effort that any more storms were not warranted. Not that Eragon was complaining. While the winter months and weather added a whole different feel to the world as well as marking the passage of time and the seasons, it was winter that he liked the least.

A month had passed almost as quickly as the blizzard had in Eragon's mind as he practiced the Rimgar in the Training Hall. He could consistently finish the first level with ease now, but the second level still challenged him a lot. Watching, his elven teacher corrected some of his forms if he found any mistakes. For the most part, however, he was silent as he watched the young rider go through with the exercises. Once finished, Oromis nodded with satisfaction. It was already the end of their training session for the day, but he had asked to see his progress with the elven exercises.

"You have progressed well with the Rimgar," said the elder. "Your first level is done extremely well, though there is a tiny bit of room to improve in your form. Your second level is sufficient, but you are placing more effort on finishing than on properly doing each form. This is not the way it should be done, Eragon. You must learn to be more patient in that regard." He impressed upon him the importance of quality over quantity. "Even if it means you do not finish, you must strive to make each form and stage of each level to be as close to perfect as you can manage."

"Yes, Oromis-elda." Eragon understood what the elf meant, but he struggled mightily with each form if he did them as properly as he should be doing them and he felt better if he finished the entire level than stopping when he could go no further. Still, Oromis knew what he was talking about and was his master, so he would follow his words. That was the point of training after all, was it not?

Later that day, Saphira called out to him as he lay reading a book on his bed in his quarters at the Citadel.

_Thessus tells me that we must meet them tomorrow at noon, _she informed him.

He frowned, _So soon. How long would it take? And where are we meeting them?_ He had no way of contacting Oromis before tomorrow morning, when they usually met for his training session. Telling him that late may only serve to anger him. He was not sure if Oromis would even allow him to leave, but he could not see any reason why he should not. He figured that at most he would be gone a few days, and that was little in the grand scheme of the training cycle of a rider, which usually last at least two to three years. Some cases even longer, depending upon master and student.

There was a delay in the reply as Eragon realized she was talking to Thessus and relaying his questions. _We shall meet them at the hold tomorrow at noon. The silver one wishes for us to pack lightly._

Eragon was still debating on how best to handle the situation with Oromis when Saphira spoke again, _Kristoff has apparently discussed the matter with Master Oromis, and we have been allowed to accompany him to... well, wherever he intends to bring us_.

With that last hurdle out of the way, Eragon breathed a sigh of relief. Speculating about where they were going and what exactly Kristoff had planned ran rampant in his mind, but he did not dwell too closely on the matter.

He would find out soon enough.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Just a heads up, many of the chapters from here on out will be longer than what I've been writing so... hope you're ready for em. Things are about to get a lot more exciting around here. This one's a bit slow but I promise the next chapter will be quite thrilling.

Also, if any of you were wondering in the previous chapter if Galbatorix lied when he said he would not harm Tensul's rider, well he did not lie, He did exactly as he said, _He _did not harm Roppen since he had Morzan kill him. And, to Galbatorix' mind, that was not the same as him harming the elder himself.


	13. Flight

_**DISCLAIMER: **_The Inheritance Cycle is not owned by me. Christopher Paolini owns that universe which he created.

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><p><strong>Edge of Oblivion<strong>

_Chapter XII - Flight_

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><p>Before dawn, Eragon was already wide awake. He went through his morning routine in a distracted manner, his mind seemingly elsewhere. And indeed it was. He packed two spare sets of clothes and some books into two bags and set them on his bed, next to which he placed a quiver full of arrows and his bow. Then he went to get breakfast, bringing along with him a small sack in which to place some food for the journey. Though he was not sure how far they were to travel, having food along was always a good idea even if they could hunt. Better to be prepared.<p>

As it got closer to midday, he could not help but feel excited and nervous about the upcoming trip. He was so distracted he did not even see his father walk up to him as he was exiting the dining hall after having a longer than usual breakfast.

Surprised to see him, Eragon saw that Broom looked tired and disheveled, as if he had not gotten any sleep the night before. Even his eyes betrayed his exhaustion, and Eragon wondered what he had been up to. Before he could ask, however, his father spoke first.

"I hear you are leaving for a while to accompany Kristoff," said the older rider. As much a question as it was a statement of fact.

Eragon nodded, "Aye, he has asked me to come and I feel it would be nice to travel a bit." He found himself trying to justify why he was going before his father had even said anything of what he thought on the matter, "I have never gone beyond Vroengard and the surrounding sea whilst flying on Saphira, and I think this is a great opportunity to fly and explore with her."

Brom smiled, though it did not quite reach his eyes and that made Eragon again question what it was that had kept his father up. "You do not need to tell me why you are going, Kristoff has already spoken to me. While I do not approve," he hesitated, "You are correct in that it would be a good opportunity to travel and see more of Alagaësia now that you are a rider. Plus it would be a good chance to get to know rider Kristoff himself, who is a good friend of mine and a good rider in his own right."

Eragon faltered a little as he processed what he was saying. He did not approve?

As if reading his mind, his father said, "Don't worry. I don't approve not because I think its foolish, though a small part of me believes the true reason you are accompanying him is indeed foolish... I had merely hoped to take you out and travel along with you myself. I looked forward to the chance for us to explore Alagaësia together. As father and son. As riders." Then Brom let out a deep sigh, "But I'm afraid that won't happen anytime soon, and I do not want you to wait."

"But I'm not exploring Alagaësia with Kristoff. We're going somewhere and then returning here. We'll be back soon enough, and we can travel Alagaësia together as you have said when we are both able," replied Eragon, confused. He felt like his father was not telling him something, or that there was something Eragon was missing. But what? And why was his father talking as if he would not see him in a while?

As he was about to speak, Brom turned his head slightly and his face tightened in concentration as if someone were telling him something. Then he looked at Eragon, "I must go, son. I am needed. I wish you safe travels, however, and I will see you soon." The way he said it made it seem like he would not, and again Eragon was filled with questions that burned within him in search of answers.

"What is it you're not telling me?" he finally managed to say as Brom pulled him into a hug.

Brom squeezed him tightly before pulling away and looking straight into his eyes, "It is nothing. Do not worry yourself over it, okay? Good. Take care of yourself, Eragon," and with that he left a bewildered young rider standing in the middle of the hall.

As Eragon walked to his quarters to collect his things for the trip, he could not help but think of his father's words and appearance. There was definitely something going on and he wanted to know what it was. He figured that Kristoff would know and he would ask the rider once they met up later. To be safe, he double-checked that he had everything in order. Then, grabbing his things from his room, he walked hastily to the hold. While he walked his thoughts turned at first to Oromis and Glaedr, his masters, and he had hoped to see them before he left but they were nowhere to be found. He would have to talk to them upon his return. Afterwards he thought of Murtagh and Thorn, and he wondered how they were doing. He had no seen them in a long time and he was worried. He did not have much time to dwell on that as he approached the hold.

He was early, but Thessus and Kristoff were already there along with Saphira, her tail flicking about in her eagerness.

"I had anticipated that you would be here earlier than we suggested," said Kristoff with a grin as he extended his hand and Eragon took it, inclining his head respectfully at the senior rider. In his other hand, Eragon noticed, he grasped a sheathed steel sword of fine make and he offered it over to Eragon. The younger rider looked at the offered blade and then towards Kristoff, hesitant to accept it.

"Since you do not have a Rider's blade yet, I shall give you this sword for you to keep. It's important for a rider to always have a sword with him. A sword of metal, not of wood."

Slowly, Eragon reached for the blade and took it from the rider's grasp. It was heavier and felt more solid than the wooden swords he was used to wielding. Even the balance felt a little different and he knew he would have to practice often with it so that his skills would not suffer from the difference. He thanked the senior rider for his generous gift, but said, "I do not think I can accept this as a gift so lightly... I'll find a way to repay you."

"Wholly unnecessary, Eragon. But I will not stop you if you are set on that." Then the older rider looked over with a critical eye at the things Eragon had brought with him. "Good, you packed well... though I can see that you are missing Saphira's saddle." He grinned wider as he finished speaking.

_Oops_, he thought and Saphira laughed. Dropping his things onto the ground he turned and sprinted to retrieve the saddle. He could feel the dragon roll her eyes as he left them. By the time he returned, he had worked up a bit of a sweat and was breathing harder. He secured the saddle and then the packs across Saphira's back. Satisfied that everything was in order, he turned to the senior rider and finally asked the main question that had been hounding him since he spoke to his father earlier. "Do you know what's going on?"

Kristoff cocked his head to the side, not understanding what he meant and giving him a questioning glance. "How do you mean?"

"I mean, do you know why my father seems to be troubled by something? Or why he acted so strangely today? Is there something big happening? Is it the Shade?"

The pause before he replied implied to Eragon that there was indeed something going on. "Nothing that cannot be handled well enough," Kristoff finally said, but he did not elaborate further.

_A single Shade would not cause so much trouble for the Riders, _Saphira added her opinion.

"Then why are you leaving with me? Shouldn't you be staying here?"

Kristoff shook his head, "No, I am not needed here... and it would be best if you did not inquire any further. There are some things that you just do not need to know or be involved in, Eragon." His eyes locked hard onto Eragon's, and the young rider finally relented.

"I guess..." he looked at Saphira. "I just feel like I should be doing something to help. I am a rider after all, and novice though I may be I feel that I could still help in some way."

The senior rider regarded him for a moment and then leapt up onto Thessus' silver back with ease that came with constantly having done the action. "You will be able to help the Riders when you are strong enough, Eragon. Right now you would only get in the way. And I do not say that to be hurtful, I only speak the truth. Novice riders in training do not participate in any missions of the Riders until they have finished their studies. While it is not a set law of ours per se, it has been an unwritten rule. That said, I admire that you wish to assist in whatever manner you can, you are much like your father in that respect."

Thessus stood on his mighty legs, and turned to face the entrance of the hold as Kristoff waved a hand towards Saphira, "Now let us go, Eragon. We have many leagues to travel today."

-**xxx**-

Murtagh groaned. Rolling over on the cold stone floor, he grimaced. His body ached all over from the beating he took the night before. Morzan had arrived home enraged about something, and Murtagh had unfortunately been present as he returned. Without warning, he had been flung across the room and proceeded to get pummeled and kicked as his father vent his anger and frustrations onto his son. After he was finished, Morzan had healed any broken bones but left the many bruises for his son to tend to himself. He had been left unconscious on the ground. His father had given no explanation as it happened. He did not even curse or insult his son, as he sometimes did. No, the only sound that he made was a growling of anger or a frustrated yell that coincided with a heavy blow.

When Murtagh's mental resolve finally broke and he cried out for his father to stop, Morzan paid him no mind and continued to pummel him. His son had been a tool which he used to relieve the great pressure of anger that welled up inside of him. There was no mistaking the fact that Morzan knew that he was hurting Murtagh, and yet it continued without a second thought. And when it was done, there was no remorse and still no explanation.

He could feel the wrath of his dragon through their link and the strong concern that emanated from him, but he quickly told Thorn not to do anything rash. Even against Thorn he knew Morzan would prevail, with or without Paine at his side. That painful fact was what made him keep his head down and accept all the insults, the anger, and the harshness.

Searching for the worst of the aches, he remembered some of the healing words and spoke them. His energy drained slowly as he continued to heal his aches and pains, though the worst of it was incurable by magic. For his heart hurt with such pain that he had not felt before. He considered what had just happened and he slowly recognized that this was a different Morzan now. Never before had he beaten Murtagh so senselessly and so violently. Sure there may have been a blow here or there and he always thought that it was just part of his father's tough love act, but never a systematic beat down like that which occurred the previous night.

His fear of his father's wrath, having experienced a new height of it, grew and he wondered what would happen the next time he returned in such a state of mind. Would his father be able to restrain himself or expend himself before he caused permanent damage? or worse? He was not so sure anymore. Last night, for the first time in his life, Murtagh acknowledged that his father did not love him. He imagined that love must be a foreign notion to his father, and looking back at his entire life spent under the reign of terror of Morzan he saw how foolish he was. He had clung to the hope that perhaps, through all this, his father held a love for him that he could not express except through being tough. But last night showed that all to be mere fancy. No being would ever to that to someone they loved.

Upset at his own weakness, a fact his father constantly reminded him of, he thought bitterly of how he had barely been trained by his father. Most of what he knew he had learned on his own, or things that he learned from his times with Eragon when the other young rider would share some of his knowledge as they exchanged stories. Thorn, thankfully, had been given more training by Paine than his father had given Murtagh because unlike Morzan, Paine actually felt responsible for teaching his apprentice. And unlike Morzan, he was actually a good teacher.

He began to resent his father even more, and the hatred that he had buried deep within him for the man who brought him into this world threatened to consume him. A grumbling from his stomach and a pang of hunger interrupted his thoughts then.

Tired from his spellcasting, he went into the kitchen and quietly grabbed some bread to munch on. He did not want to cook food for fear of his father realizing he was up and continuing what he had started last night. Murtagh found himself constantly looking towards the doorway, as if his father were about to appear at any moment.

_We must leave this place_, said Thorn abruptly. There was no give in his voice, only a seriousness that magnified the gravity of his words.

Murtagh was so stunned by the statement that he stopped chewing. _What?_ he said incredulously.

_Let us leave, _repeated his dragon, _You have said that when you are strong enough we would go elsewhere..._

_And I am not strong enough yet!_ he cried, _My father would hunt us down and I dare not think what he would do once he found us. _Again he looked towards the doorway, worried his father might have heard his thoughts. He made sure to keep his mental defenses up to block anything save for the connection he had with his dragon.

Thorn growled at him and allowed some of his anger to seep through their link, _You will never be strong enough if you stay here. Your father barely teaches you and in fact more often than not hinders your progress! Staying here is foolish and can only lead to more suffering. We cannot wait for the right moment any longer, because the right moment is now._

_Running away is foolish! _he retorted, but he had little conviction in that statement as he found himself slowly agreeing with Thorn's words. Leaving carried with it so many risks, the greatest of which was his father finding them and punishing them severely. But Thorn was right, if he stayed he would not only be constantly subjected to his father's wrath anyways, he would also be hindering his progress. His 'training' from his father was non-existent anyways and he would definitely not miss it.

_We must __leave_, said the red dragon again, _We must leave while we still can. And if you do not agree with me, I will forcibly take you away from here myself... or I will confront your father. _Thorn spoke with determination, although Murtagh detected a brief flash of uncertainty he knew his dragon would follow through with his words. He would most assuredly perish if he attempted to do so. Both of them would.

_Then you leave me choice._

Thorn's tone softened, _It is for the best, Murtagh. You know this to be true._

He did, but stubbornly refused to accept it. He continued to finish the piece of bread he had in his hands, chewing slowly as within himself he debated whether to leave or to stay. There was a lot more certainty with staying, but that would also mean as Thorn had said more suffering. Still, he did wish to escape the clutches of his father and to finally live freely on his own terms. He only hoped that their absence would not be noticed until they were far, far away from Doru Araeba. He cursed under his breath, his mind already made up.

_Okay_, he sent to Thorn. There was no audible reply, on the flow of a warm feeling of satisfaction and happiness.

Murtagh was already thinking of what to pack and how best to go about the whole ordeal. He would need to leave at night, preferably, for his father never checked in on him and usually only saw him once he returned late the next day from whatever he was doing. It would be even better if he could time it with when his father would leave for long periods. Yes, that was the most ideal plan. He would have to pay close attention to the comings and goings of his father, or he could at least assign Thorn to that task since he would be able to watch the house better without suspicion anyways.

Treading quietly, he went up to his room and carefully began to pack things into his bags. It was then that a thought struck him: he had to tell Eragon he was leaving. He had not seen his friend for some time now, mostly because his father had actually kept him busy with his 'training' that consisted mostly of criticisms and harsh displays of "how to do it properly. Morzan had constantly been returning to the house for the past few weeks so he was unable to get away to meet Eragon like he usually did.

_Thorn, _he called out with his mind.

_What is it, Murtagh?_

_You must watch my father's movements during the day. _He explained to Thorn that in order for them to have the best chance of escaping and minimizing the chances of his father finding them they must leave when he is away from the island. Timing was everything, especially since he was sure his father would be able to track them somehow. The more time and distance there was between their escape and his realization that they had gone, the greater the chance of success. And survival.

Thorn grunted, _Then I will watch keenly and hope that he leaves soon._

_I hope so too,_ replied the son of Morzan as he suddenly felt uncertain of the future.

-**xxx**-

They flew for many hours heading eastward, leaving behind the familiar sight of the island Vroengard. Eragon watched it recede into the distance with both excitement and a pang of sadness. They flew over the Spine without stopping, and Eragon gazed at it with a renewed excitement as he thought of hunting in the Spine again. Long had it been since the last time he stepped foot in the familiar mountain range and he hoped he would return again in the near future.

Saphira too took in the sight of the many mountains of the Spine with a sharp interest as her rider's thoughts on hunting spilled over into her own. She wished to hunt in the Spine as well, for hunting in Vroengard was far too easy. Challenging hunts were always welcome for a dragon, and especially so for Saphira who had begun to get very bored with the ease in which game could be caught around the island of the Dragon Riders. The very thought of hunting made her involuntarily clench her claws and salivate. With great effort she resisted the urge to dive down and hunt, concentrating hard on following the silver-scaled dragon who was flying slightly ahead of them.

The task was not too difficult thanks to the light from the moon that bathed everything on that clear cloudless night. The moon's glow seemed to make Thessus shine brightly as if he were made to wander the night sky under the watchful gaze of the silvery moon. She thought that if Thessus flew high enough, someone below may mistake him for a shooting star. In contrast, while her scales did reflect some of the moonlight, it was not to the same effect as Thessus. She definitely looked far darker in at night for she was made to be shown off in the glory of bright sunlight.

_Are you tired?_ asked Eragon, suddenly concerned for his dragon. They had never flown this far or for this long before and he wanted to be sure she was not hurting herself.

Slightly bemused, she responded, _I am stronger than you think, little one. But I am getting tired, though I can fly for a while longer if need be._

_Kristoff wished to know. _He rubbed the parts of her neck that was within his reach as he relayed her response to the senior rider. _And I'm impressed by your strength, as always_.

Saphira thanked him for that, proud as she was of herself and her abilities. Still, as they continued to fly across the night sky it was getting harder and harder to flap her wings and concentrate. Finally, when she was about to ask if they may take a rest, Kristoff turned in his saddle and signaled to them that they were to descend. Right after his movements, Thessus tipped right and angled downwards.

Below them, the waters of the North Sea glittered under the light of the moon. They landed on the shores of the North Sea that were close to the Spine, having barely crossed beyond the mountain range. There was no civilization on this side of the North Sea as a dense forest took up the space between the shore and the mountains.

Thessus landed with a heavy thud on the beach, sliding across the sand as he did so. A moment later and Saphira repeated the same, though the sound of her landing was lighter and she slid farther since she was not as heavy. Close by, a few dozen feet away from the farthest edge of the beach from the water was the beginnings of the forest that spread towards the foot of the mountains. There was heavy silence in the air, as if the forest had noticed their presence and was watching them. Eragon could feel eyes on him and it was rather unsettling.

Finally, the insects began to make noises again and the forest returned to what it had been doing before the two dragons and their riders had interrupted. Letting out a sigh at that and shaking his head at his worrying, Eragon laid down a blanket which he had packed. Taking his sack of clothes he put it down at the head of the blanket to use as a pillow. Satisfied, he watched as Kristoff was doing the same. Unlike Eragon, however, he had also brought a tent - though he did not set it up then for the skies were clear and he did not need it.

Once finished, he went over to the edge of the woods and grabbed and fallen branches and any other pieces of wood that he could use to build a fire. Eragon noticed that the senior rider kept looking around cautiously as he walked along the edge of the forest. With an armful of branches he returned and arranged them into a neat pile between the two riders. With a whisper and a faint glow from the rider's right hand, a fire crackled to life. Then Kristoff sat down on his make-shift bed, his knees bent and his arms resting on them as he looked at Eragon.

"How goes the journey for you two?" he asked.

Eragon shrugged, "I feel fine, though tired. And Saphira feels the same. She of course is more tired than I am, but she is a strong one." He smiled at her as she hummed softly at him with affection. Looking out across the North Sea, he could barely discern in the distance the faint lights of the city of Ceunon and he wondered if that was their destination.

_I am too weary to participate in any late-night conversations, so I shall sleep now. No doubt we shall be traveling early tomorrow, so you should not stay up so late yourself,_ Saphira's voice echoed in his head. He looked at her and bid her goodnight as she closed her eyes and laid her head down to rest on the sand. Close by, the sounds of the waves splashing and lapping at the beach made it easy to drift off into slumber.

"Where are we going?" he asked then, "And how much farther must we travel?

"Well I guess you should know where we are going now that we're already on our way," reasoned the rider. He looked out towards Ceunon and pointed his hand in that direction, "We travel to Osilon, a great city of the elves on the western fringes of the magnificent forest that is Du Weldenvarden. Another two days of travel until we arrive in the city. It is there that I will be conducting some business as well as seeing old friends, and it is there that I am told your elf resides currently."

Nodding, his gaze turned from the senior rider back towards Ceunon and beyond. He would city a city of the elves! The very thought of it excited him like the day after Saphira hatched for him and he realized he was actually, finally, a rider. He had read of their beautiful cities and how they lived one with the forest, that is they lived within the very trees themselves. Not only that, but he would be able to see and observe their culture up close. He imagined what it was like, reading about the elves in his books and hearing a thing or two from Oromis, but to finally witness it all in person was very exciting indeed. And also nerve-wracking. He was not sure how to act and how he would be received in elven society.

"Why are you doing this?" asked the young rider. He knew he had asked before, but he was not so sure that was the real reason.

Kristoff smiled genuinely enough as he answered him, "I told you my reasons. Besides, your father and I agreed it would be a nice break for you to leave Vroengard for a while."

"A while? How long are we staying in Osilon?"

"I am not sure, but not too long I think," said Kristoff thoughtfully, "If you worry about your training fear not for in the meantime I will further your training when I can. Oromis has instructed me, and as a senior rider I feel obliged to to do so since I am borrowing you away from your master for a while."

Surprised by how much the senior rider was to help him, Eragon could not help but feel that he owed him a great debt for all he was doing for him. Weariness of his own crept through his body as he finally laid down, his head resting on one of his bags. He bid Kristoff good night and closed his eyes, the last thing he saw was the fire burning and Kristoff staring at it intently. The crackling of the fire and the soft but consistent splashing of the waves onto the beach lulling him to sleep.

-**xxx**-

_Murtagh, wake uo!_ a voice thundered in his head loud enough that it did indeed jar him from sleep's grasp.

Gray eyes widening as he sat up in his bed, Murtagh scanned the room and had a hand on a dagger he kept hidden beneath his pillow. Realizing that he was not in any immediate danger, he reached out to his dragon.

_What's going on?_ he demanded, still a bit groggy.

_Your father has left Vroengard._

The statement was more than enough to fully wake him up then. His heart began to beat rapidly as he jumped up and bolted around the room, grabbing all the things he had not yet packed and shoving them roughly into the bags he had kept hidden underneath his bed. Everything he thought he needed he brought with him, and though he knew it would be heavy he had no other choice for he had nothing else besides these things. Not to mention that they felt they would aid him in the times to come, for he brought along with him more than a few books as well to help his studies and training. At least the hoped they would.

Along with those things he had extra clothes, a set of light armor his father had given him before - one of the few things Murtagh was actually thankful his father had done for him. He also had a bow and a a quiver full of arrows, two steel swords and two daggers. He also had roughly a week's supply of food that he had stolen from the kitchen. Glancing over everything one more time and going through a checklist in his head, he called out to Thorn to meet him in the dragon hold. Passing by one of the store rooms on the first floor he grabbed the saddle that he used with Thorn, adding to his burden as he grunted to lift it over his shoulder along with the packs.

Carefully, he left the house and slipped through the streets with eyes darting and eyeing every shadow with caution. Once he reached the gates of the Citadel, the guards at first stiffened in suspicion as he approached but saw that he was a rider - they recognized all of the riders - and let him through without any fuss. Tired from the weight he bore on his back from his packs, he finally reached the first hold and found his red-scaled bond-partner there waiting for him. Eagerness emanated from the dragon and Murtagh could not help but feel the same way.

He quickly latched the saddle onto his back at the base of his neck and then quickly tied up the packs securely to the saddle. Once he was satisfied he brought himself up onto Thorn's back and once he secured himself Thorn began to move. Launching himself into the air and flying out into the night.

As they ascended ever higher, he could not help but think of what Eragon was doing and how he would react to his sudden flight. He had hoped to tell him, but he seemed to have disappeared as of late and there was no time to send him any messages. Not that he would have anyways, for he did not trust anyone to deliver such a message. He only hoped he would one day see Eragon again, he had slowly come to consider him almost like the brother he never had. Brushing away those thoughts his mind focused on the fact that he was indeed finally leaving Doru Araeba on his own.

_This is it_, Murtagh said with a detached tone as he watched Vroengard speed by beneath them and then behind them. The sea that spanned between the island and the shores of the mainland whirled by. He was really leaving. His mind imagined the terrible rage his father would go on once he realized that his son had left him. No doubt he would try to cover it up, but he was sure he would be shamed in the eyes of some of the riders. For that alone he was very much afraid of being found by his father.

It was not until they sighted the mountains of the Spine that Eragon had told him so much about and that he had read of in his books that he finally accepted the fact that he was finally free from his father. At least for the moment. He contemplated the word, rolling it around in his head. _Free_. _I... WE are free... free at last,_ he thought.

Thorn growled happily as he flew through the night as fast as he was able.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Things are going to be moving a lot faster now as we start to get into the main chunk of the story. Also, for those of you wondering I have indeed altered the timeline of the story quite a lot - that said the relative ages of everyone are still roughly the same. To make things clearer here is a list of everyone's relative ages in this fic:

(Revealed) Main Character Ages:  
>Eragon: 16<br>Murtagh: 18 (the reason he did not get his dragon earlier is because of Morzan's irresponsibility with his son; only when Brom was to have his son go through the ceremony did he finally let Murtagh do it as well)  
>Brom: 53<br>Selena: 49  
>Arya - at least mid to late 60's. I haven't decided yet on an exact age.<br>Oromis: 550+  
>Vrael: 700+<br>Kristoff: 60  
>Morzan: 58<br>Galbatorix - around mid 80's


End file.
